


The Price of Pride

by ArielT



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Pre and Post Canon, Rewriting Canon, Slow Burn, change one thing you change them all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 226,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23789416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArielT/pseuds/ArielT
Summary: 200 years after his arrival in Valinor, Legolas thinks back to those he loved and lost, and wonders if he could have done things differently.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 48
Kudos: 40





	1. Prologue-Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Maggie Honeybite who generously gave me permission to use the silver and gold ribbons from her story “Sweetness and Gall” in my story. Maggie’s stories can be found at http://www.ithilas.com/maggie/maggie.html Thanks also to Ezra’s Persian Kitty for providing me information about the meanings of various flowers. The conversation between Erestor and Glorfindel in Chapter 4 makes reference to her story “The Art of Miscommunication” which can be found at www.libraryofmoria.com

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am reposting my first fanfic here because a friend asked about it and most of the archives where it was posted are gone now. :(

Prologue

I walk the shores of Valinor, alone with my memories and my grief. Though it is a struggle here, I keep track of the days, marking, not the passage of time, but the anniversaries of the days that mattered most. The first time I saw Arwen. The day I met Aragorn. Seeing them meet in Rivendell, though they saw me not. The day the Fellowship set out on its quest. The day the One Ring was destroyed. The day Aragorn was crowned King. The day he made Arwen his Queen. The deaths of Merry and Pippin. The death of Aragorn. Arwen’s disappearance on Cerin Amroth. The death of Gimli.

Most of my thoughts center on Arwen. Her fate is the only one I could have changed. In later years, it was often said that all who looked upon Arwen Undómiel, Evenstar of her people, Queen of Gondor, fell immediately under her spell, so great was her grace and beauty. Only Gimli, son of Glóin, with his admiration for Galadriel had been immune to Arwen’s spell. I took great pains to remind her that I had also resisted. Of course, she had been a babe-in-arms when I first met her, which accounted for my indifference at the time. The Valar know I fell under her spell quickly enough later, a spell that has haunted me these 3000 years.

Elvish translations

Ernil-neth – young prince 

Hîr nín – my Lord

Iyn nín – my sons

Chapter 1

I remember that first meeting like it was yesterday. I arrived in Imladris on the eve of my 500th birthday, expecting to be received there as I had been received in Lothlórien and as my father received visiting dignitaries at his court. Not that I considered myself a dignitary, but I was the son of a King and had grown used to a certain amount of fanfare. What I found, instead, was chaos. Elves saw to my horse and to those of my party, but nowhere did I see Lord Elrond or any of his aides. I wandered toward the Hall of Fire where I found the twins, Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond’s sons, sitting in the shadows. I called a greeting, to which they absently replied. I was surprised. We were friends of old, the twins and I, from their time in the Mirkwood and the time all three of us had spent in Lothlórien.

“What is going on?” I asked, beginning to worry about my friends.

“Amme is in labor” Elladan began.

“It is not going well,” Elrohir continued, finishing his brother’s thought. “Ada is with her, but…”

Just then, a shout rang out from the hallway. I watched the brothers jump up and run toward their parents’ rooms. I trailed behind them, feeling out of place. We arrived at the door just as Elrond opened it and came out. “Amme?” the twins cried in unison.

“She will be fine,” Elrond said, weariness obvious in his voice.

“And the babe?” Elrohir asked, afraid to hear the answer.

“She, too, will be fine.”

“That is good news, indeed,” I interjected, speaking for the first time. I did not really want to interrupt, but I felt that I needed to make my presence known.

Elrond looked beyond his sons, seeing for the first time that I stood in the hallway. “Forgive me, ernil-neth. I was not there to greet you properly.”

I gave a slight bow. “There is nothing to forgive, hîr nín. Under the circumstances, I can hardly complain.”

“When can we see her?” Elladan interjected, impatient with the formalities. His only concern was his mother and sister.

“Your naneth needs time to rest and recover, but if you will be patient a few minutes longer, I will let you see your sister.

“Legolas, let me…” Elrond continued, turning toward me.

“No, hîr nín,” I interrupted. “See to your family. We have traveled leisurely from Lórien. You need not worry for me. In fact, I should like to see the babe as well, if you would permit it.”

“Of course,” Elrond replied. He disappeared into the bedroom. We could hear his voice from the hallway as he murmured to his wife, then the sound of a baby fussing. The cries were calmed quickly, and Elrond reappeared at the door, a tiny bundle cradled gently in his arms. Elladan and Elrohir rushed to their father’s side, peering down at the tiny child. “What will we call her, Ada?” they asked, almost in unison.

“Arwen,” Elrond replied. “Arwen Undómiel, for she shall be the Evenstar of her people.” Elrond’s voice changed as he spoke, taking on the distant tone of one who was caught by the Foresight. 

“Ada?” Elrohir said softly, fear in his voice. “What do you mean, Ada?”

Elrond blinked a few times, clearing away the vision, forcing his eyes back to his sons’ worried faces. “We must take very good care of your sister, iyn nín,” Elrond said, smiling gently. “She will have a very important role to play when next we face the Shadow.”

“We will teach her, Ada. She will be the best warrior in Imladris,” Elladan exclaimed.

“She will be ready, Ada. She will defeat the Shadow,” Elrohir chimed in.

Elrond shook his head indulgently. “Teach her, iyn nín, for she should certainly be able to protect herself against what comes, but remember, too, that there are more ways than one to aid in any quest. Do not tell her what I have told you, any of you,” he instructed, his gaze sweeping to include me. I had begun to feel very uncomfortable with this family scene, but could not see a way to extract myself by then. “She must fulfill her fate in her own way, prepared by what we can teach her, but open to every path. Even the very wisest cannot see all ends. Now, Legolas, would you like to see my daughter?”

“Please, hîr nín,” I replied. “I am not sure I have ever seen one so young. My father claims I was the last one born in the Greenwood, and none were born in Lórien while I was there. I saw elflings there, but they were all older than this.” I moved closer to Elrond, examining the sleeping child’s face, searching for some sign of the greatness Elrond foresaw. All I saw was a wrinkled, red face, eyes closed, lips pursed. I said all the right things, gave all the appropriate compliments, but in my heart of hearts, I wondered what was so special about this child.

I stayed in Imladris for fifty years, learning what I could from Elrond, as my father had decreed. I watched Arwen grow in those years, watched her brothers teach her to defend herself, watched her father teach her wisdom and healing. I watched her, but I never truly saw her. All I saw was the babe she had been, with the wrinkled red face. Then, my duties to my father recalled me to Mirkwood, and I did not see her again for almost a century.

Chapter 2

I returned to Imladris as my father’s emissary, eager to see my friends again, to see Imladris again. Eager to escape the shadow that had begun to encroach on my home. Elrond was there to greet me this time, as was befitting an emissary of the King. We said all the right words, went through all the formalities. Then, Elrond offered to show me to my rooms. As if he needed to. I knew Imladris almost as well as I knew the forests of Mirkwood. I consented, nonetheless, for I felt in his gaze that he wanted to speak to me in private. 

We walked through the halls of Imladris in companionable silence. I waited for Elrond to speak, knowing he would do so only when he was ready. We reached the doors to my rooms before he finally turned to me. “You will not recognize my daughter when you see her,” he told me in a solemn voice. “Be her friend, Legolas, but do not lose your heart to her. She would never intentionally hurt anyone, but she is not for you.” 

Before I could reply, Elrond turned and walked away. I was surprised at the time. I was almost 650 years old, 500 years past my majority, and I had never lost my heart to anyone. I had taken the occasional lover – what Elf my age had not – but those affairs had always been about passion, never about love. Then I wondered why Elrond was warning me. Arwen had not yet reached her majority. Surely he could not think I would take advantage of an Elfling. ‘But he has the gift of Foresight,’ I told myself. ‘Perhaps he has seen her future and warns everyone away.’ To this day, I do not know exactly what Elrond had seen or what prompted him to make his warning. I promised myself that I would heed his advice, even as I told myself it was needlessly given. I bathed and changed, returning to the Halls of Fire for the banquet that would be served in my honor. That was when I saw her, truly saw, her for the first time. Elrond’s advice never stood a chance against the beauty before me. My breath caught in my throat. My heart turned over in my chest, and I was lost. In that moment, I would have done anything she requested of me, made any sacrifice just to see her smile at me.

“Legolas,” she cried, delight in her voice as she flew across the room, throwing herself in my arms. “You are back.”

I closed my arms around her lithe form, staring down at the delicate features, the dark eyes, silky skin, red lips curved up in a smile. The press of her body, fully clothed, against mine was more arousing than any intimate touch from any lover I had ever known. I could feel a stirring in my loins so I drew back, not wanting her to realize what I was feeling.

“Let me look at you,” I said, using that as an excuse. Arwen stepped back and smiled, twirling around so I could see all of her. I had left her an Elfling. Though she still had a few weeks to go before she reached her majority, I saw a fully-grown Elf standing before me. My eyes drank in the sight of her. She wore a gown of red crushed velvet that hugged her curves in all the right places, accentuating the tuck of her waist, the flare of her hips, the swell of her breasts. Her dark hair flowed down her back, unbound, unbraided, a child’s hairstyle. It should have been a reminder to me of her age, her status as a minor, still. Instead, I imagined that hair spread out over my pillow, loosened from its braids for a lover, even a mate. Fortunately for my sanity, Elladan and Elrohir chose that moment to interrupt, teasing Arwen about showing off, making her turn on them and stick her tongue out. Though the sight of that pink tongue between ruby lips sent another shot of arousal through me, the look on her face, and on the faces of the twins, brought me back to my surroundings and the reality of the situation. It reminded me as well of Elrond’s warning.

Could I have done what he asked of me if I had tried harder then, when my heart was mostly still mine, and only my passion was engaged? Could I have avoided temptation and thus heartbreak? I ask myself those questions every year on her birthday. I have been asking for 3000 years, but I still have no answer to those questions. I asked one other question for many years. Did I wish I had not fallen in love with her? To that question I have an answer. No, I do not wish it, for she brought much joy into my life along with the heartbreak. There are many things I would change in my life, but falling in love with Arwen is not one of them. 

Elvish translations

Elleth – Elf-maid

Ernil nín – my prince

Ernil-neth – young prince

Díhena nin – forgive me (I’m sorry) 

Sell nín – my daughter 

Hîr nín – my Lord

Mellon nín – my friend

Nach vain – you are beautiful 

Tolo – come

Chapter 3

My father had sent me to Imladris to discuss a trading arrangement that would hopefully benefit both realms. Thranduil would not leave Mirkwood, nor would he deal personally with Elrond, but some means of communication was necessary. I was that means. Those duties required a certain amount of my time in meetings with Elrond and his advisors. I wondered at the pair of them. Dark-haired, serious Erestor, and blond, playful Glorfindel. They were complete opposites, but they complimented each other perfectly, in many, many ways, I later learned, and their loyalty to Elrond was unquestionable. 

I spent my free time with Arwen or the twins. I often joined the twins at the soldiers’ barracks during the day and walked the gardens with Arwen in the evenings. The twins and I sparred playfully on the training grounds, challenging each other to mock duels and archery contests. I won the archery contests. One of the twins usually won the duels. Arwen would come and watch sometimes, dressed as she always was, in a simple gown. I did my best to win when she was there, wanting to impress her with my skill. Then, one day, she appeared in leathers and asked to join in. I almost refused. She was an Elf-maid, after all. What did she know of the warrior’s art? Her brothers’ reaction stopped me before I could make that mistake. 

“Now you are really in for a challenge,” Elrohir told me with a smile.

I raised an eyebrow, surprised, but before I could speak, Elladan added, “We have been teaching her all her life. Surely you remember from when you were here before.”

“Yes, of course,” I replied. Once they mentioned it, I remembered, but I had not paid any attention to Arwen in those days. “Are you good, then, mellon nín?” I asked her.

“Good enough,” came her saucy reply.

“Show me,” I challenged. I do not know what I expected, but I did not expect the hiss of her sword as it left the scabbard. I did not expect the grace and power in her stance as she faced me. I have seen many warriors in my long years, powerful, fearsome, controlled, but only Arwen and, much later, the Shieldmaiden of Rohan could ever make the deadly dance beautiful as well. I was not carrying a sword, but I had my knives, which had always served me well. I reached behind me and drew them, mimicking Arwen’s battle-ready stance. The first strike of her curved sword against my knives took me aback. I had underestimated her, underestimated the force she could bring to bear against me. I began to see her in a different light as she pressed her attack. Elleth she was, but no soft, helpless maid. I was able to parry the blows, but could not get enough of a respite to press an attack of my own. Even her brothers had never challenged me so. Much to my chagrin, one of my knives quickly went flying from my grasp. I blocked a blow with the other, but the sword slipped and cut my hand.

Arwen immediately dropped her sword. “Legolas, díhena nin,” she cried, her dismay evident in her voice. “Let me help you.” She grabbed my uninjured hand and dragged me toward the Houses of Healing, ignoring my protests that it was just a nick, that I would cleanse and treat it in my own rooms. I was protesting out of form, not out of any real desire to escape. The feel of her hand in mine was sending glorious tingles up my arm. I could barely feel the pain from the cut with the joy of her touch coursing through me.

We reached the Houses of Healing, and Arwen drew me to a basin where she could tend to the cut. She washed the blood away gently, then stared oddly at my hand.

“What is it?” I asked. 

“The bleeding has stopped,” she replied.

“Is that not good?” I still did not understand the look on her face.

“Of course it is good, but a cut like this should have bled longer.”

I did not know what to say to that, being no healer myself, so I sat silently while she put a salve on the cut and bandaged my hand. The tingles from her touch continued throughout her ministrations. She let me leave, finally, with an admonition to rest until lunch. She was every inch her father’s daughter in that moment. I did not even think of disobeying. Despite the salve, my hand was hurting since her touch no longer distracted me, so I retired to my rooms. I had meant to sit and read, but I quickly fell asleep. When I awoke several hours later, my hand felt normal. I was surprised, but I undid the bandage to check the wound. Unbroken, unblemished skin met my eyes when I removed the dressing. I shrugged my shoulders, wondering what was in the salve that Arwen had used and how to get the recipe for the healers at home. Between fighting the spiders and the Orcs from Dol Guldur, we always had wounded in Mirkwood who could benefit from a salve that healed injuries in a matter of hours.

I left the bandage off when I went to lunch. Arwen saw my unbound hand from across the room and came to my side. “Why did you remove the dressing?” she asked, grabbing my hand to examine the wound. She looked at my hand, then looked at me, a puzzled frown on her face. “I have never seen anything like this,” she murmured. She dragged me toward the head table where Elrond was seated.

“Ada,” she called, “look at this.” She showed him my hand.

“What am I looking at, sell nín?”

“Just a few hours ago, his hand was cut. I caught him with my sword when we were sparring. I treated it, like you taught us, but now it is healed.”

“You have a remarkable healing ability, ernil-neth,” Elrond observed, looking at me.

“Hîr nín, I thought it was the salve that Arwen used. True, I heal quickly, but no more so than any Elf.”

“I must think on this,” Elrond said, more to himself than to us. “Enjoy your lunch.” We started away. “Legolas,” he called after me, “rest your hand this afternoon even though it appears healed. We do not want to take any risks.”

“Aye, hîr nín,” I answered. 

As I was banned from the training grounds and did not really want to return to my rooms, I took to the gardens instead. As I had both hoped and feared, Arwen soon joined me. Her nearness was affecting me more than I cared to let her see, and as I was wearing leggings and a tunic, she would be seeing far too much if we stayed where we were. I cast around for a reason to get us both moving. It had been almost a hundred years since I had last been in Imladris. Surely something had changed enough to justify a walk through the grounds.

“What is your favorite place in the valley?” I asked Arwen. It was a way to get the conversation moving toward exploring the valley.

“There is a small waterfall up behind the house,” Arwen told me, pointing. “It is not as spectacular as most so most Elves never bother to seek it out.”

“I do not think I have ever explored that area of the valley. If I did, I certainly did not find your waterfall. Will you share it with me?” There. An excuse to go scrambling around in the woods where I would be better able to ignore and hide my steadily growing arousal.

“Of course. I am always glad to go there. Tolo.” And she grabbed my hand. This was not starting out as I had envisioned it. I wanted to add to the distance between us, not close it. Fortunately, the terrain was rough enough that walking hand in hand soon became impossible.

I followed her up a barely visible path. I was glad that she was leading me. Once I knew that the path was there, I had no problem following it, but I doubt I would have been able to find it without her. It took us almost thirty minutes to reach the waterfall she had spoken of. When we reached it, she settled almost immediately into what I soon learned was her favorite spot to sit. I remained standing, a short distance away. My arousal had faded, but I dared not risk it returning from her close proximity. 

“What do you think?” she asked, shyly.

I regarded the waterfall and the surrounding area carefully. As she had said, the waterfall was not as spectacular as many of those that graced the valley, but the water sang sweetly as it tumbled over the rocks. “It is lovely,” I replied, closing my eyes to revel in the touch of the mist from the spray on my face. I have always been a sensualist, relishing touch and taste and sound. I was so caught in the feeling that my other senses were less focused than usual. When I opened my eyes, Arwen was standing directly in front of me, a look I dared not interpret as desire in her eyes. Before I could pull away or try to diffuse the situation, she whispered, “Nach vain, pen-valthennen.” She stretched up, pressed her lips to mine, and ran.

I stood, speechless, and watched her go. Confusion reigned in my mind and heart. That was the chastest kiss I had ever received, yet its impact on me was incredible. Age aside, Arwen’s inexperience was obvious in that kiss and in her flight. She had not even waited to see my reaction, which might have been a good thing, given the desire for her that I was already fighting. What stuck in my mind, though, was the endearment she had used. My golden one. Usually, she used my name, or perhaps called me ernil nín, my prince. This was different. I started slowly back toward the house, still trying to make sense of my feelings. In the back of my mind, Elrond’s warning echoed again. Surely he would not oppose his daughter in matters of the heart. I pushed the warning aside as I felt again the gentle pressure of Arwen’s lips against mine in my mind. She had kissed my cheek when she was a small elfling, but had not done so since my return. That had to mean something. Perhaps she was beginning to return the feelings I had for her. Perhaps we could have a future together.

I did not see Arwen when I returned to the house, and she was absent from dinner as well. Elrond examined my hand again in her absence and pronounced me fit. Then, the twins invited me to join them on patrol the next day. I saw no reason not to go so I agreed. We were gone for almost a week. When we returned, a summons from Elrond awaited me.

Elvish translations

Elleth – female Elf

Ernil-neth – young prince 

Pen-neth – young one 

Meleth – love 

Hîr nín – my Lord 

Cuivië – awakening

Chapter 4

I walked into Elrond’s study that day, blithely unaware that my life was yet again about to be turned upside down. I found Elrond sitting at his desk, a worried frown on his face. 

“What is it, hîr nín?” I asked. “What troubles you?” If I had known the answer before I asked the question, I would have run, as far and as fast as I could.

“My daughter has asked for a favor,” Elrond told me softly.

“Of course,” I replied. “I will do whatever she wants.” I sealed my fate with those words, without even knowing it.

“I was afraid you would say that,” Elrond answered with a sigh. “I told you to guard your heart, pen-neth, but you did not listen. I had hoped to avoid this heartache.”

“What heartache?” I asked, still blissfully ignorant. “What could Arwen possibly want that could cause me heartache?”

“She reaches her majority in a few days. Her Cuivië will take place on the night of her birthday. She has asked for you.”

Delight was my first response. Delight that I would be her first lover, that I would teach her all the ways two people could please one another. Then I realized. “But that would mean…”

“Aye,” Elrond replied. “That would mean that there could never be a bond between you. She would be your lover, but never your love.”

“You cannot ask this of me,” I whispered.

“I wish I did not have to, but you must understand, Legolas. Even if I denied her, even if you deny her, you still cannot have the bond you desire.”

“Wh…why not?” I stuttered. “Mirkwood is not Imladris, but…”

Elrond interrupted me before I could continue. “This is not about you. This is not about your father and me. This is about Arwen. Do you remember when she was born? I saw the future, holding her there in the hallway, outside her mother’s room, as I have seen it again, every time I have looked. Do you remember, Legolas?” he asked me.

“Aye,” I whispered. “I remember.”

“Arwen’s heart must remain unattached, for her heart is the key to victory over the Shadow. Whether she will give her heart when the time comes is her choice, but she must be free to make that choice at the right time. You cannot bond to her, Legolas. I told you to guard your heart.”

I fled Elrond’s office for the peace of the gardens. When my footsteps slowed and I began to recover my composure, I looked up to see Erestor moving quietly among the well-tended beds. He had a small collection of flowers in his hand.

“You look surprised, ernil-neth, to see me gathering flowers.”

“A little, I admit.”

“Flowers say many things. The act of giving is a message in itself, but the flowers can also speak for you if you have not the words to speak yourself.”

“I do not understand.” 

“Each flower has a meaning, Legolas. You choose the ones that say what you cannot say. Take this bouquet for example,” Erestor said, holding out a collection of flowers. “This one, the variegated tulip, says that the recipient has beautiful eyes. The scarlet geranium tells of comfort, received or given. The althea says I am consumed by love. The ivy that binds them together promises eternal fidelity.”

“Do many people know the meanings of flowers?”

“The knowledge is there for those who choose to look, but most do not.”

“Thank you, Master Erestor. You have given me much to think about.” I started away when he called me back. “Legolas, I can help you if you will trust me. I am considered something of an expert in the fine art of communicating with flowers.”

A laugh interrupted our conversation. Glorfindel came to Erestor’s side and took the bouquet from his hand. “The art of miscommunication, you mean.”

“Was it my fault that you did not speak my language?” Erestor shot back.

“Beautiful eyes, comfort, consumed by love, eternal fidelity. Very nice, meleth. I love you, too,” Glorfindel said with a smile. “You can trust him to send your message, pen-neth, but the person receiving it must also know to understand.”

“She cannot know. I can never speak of what I feel.”

“Speak, perhaps not, but you know what could happen if you keep this inside you. Trust us to keep your secret and to help you express what you feel,” Glorfindel urged.

I hesitated, still struggling with the reality of my situation. Until a few hours earlier, I had imagined a very different future, despite Elrond’s warning. After our meeting, I knew I could not love Arwen, not openly the way I wanted to, and I could not court her, so there would be no gifts, of flowers or otherwise, just to be giving gifts, but there would be times, like for her birthday, when I could give her flowers. She might never understand the message I was sending with the flowers I gave, but neither would I be living a lie, at least not completely. I would be telling her what I felt, just not in ways she would understand. I could keep my promise to Elrond and be true to my heart. I took a deep breath.

“You will keep my secret?”

“We have said we would. No one will hear of your feelings from us.”

“I love an elleth who will be forever denied to me. I can be her friend. I may even be allowed to be her lover for a time, but I will never be allowed the bond I would form with her if I could.”

Glorfindel and Erestor were silent as I spoke, but I could see that they were trying to work out the identity of my beloved.

Finally Erestor spoke. “Arwen has chosen you for her Cuivië. Why did you not refuse?”

“Because Lord Elrond had a vision of Arwen’s future, and it does not include me. If I accept, I have at least some place in her life.”

“There will be flowers in her rooms that night. We will help you pick them. They will say all that you could wish.” We spent several hours that day choosing the perfect flowers, some of which I had never known before walking the garden with Erestor and Glorfindel.


	2. Chapters 5-10

Elvish translations

Elleth – Elf-maid

Ernil nín – my prince

Ernil-neth – young prince 

Pen-neth – young one 

Meldir – friend (m) 

Hîr nín – my Lord

Hiril nín – my Lady 

Cuivië – awakening

Mellon nín – my friend

Chapter 5

I spent the morning of Arwen’s birthday hunting with Elrohir. We did not catch much, but that was not the point. I needed the escape. There was too much going on in the Last Homely House for me to be comfortable there, too many people who knew that I would be the one with Arwen that night trying to give me advice. It was only natural, their comments. I had made enough of the same kind of comments to others soon to be in my position, though I never did after that day. I told myself that they were jealous, and most probably were. Arwen was the most beautiful elleth of the Third Age, maybe of any Age, descended from the most powerful Elves still in Middle Earth. She was all that was desirable and, that night, she would be mine. I was not inexperienced, but I could not begin to imagine what that night would hold.

We returned in time for lunch. Elrohir joined the celebration, but I did not want to face the comments so I asked for a tray in my rooms. I spent a long time preparing for the evening’s celebrations. I soaked in the tub until the water was cold. I had picked out the robes I wanted to wear that evening, but I found myself second-guessing my choices. Fortunately, Elladan chose that moment to join me.

“I have come to lend you support, meldir,” he said cheerfully.

“I am a fool,” I told him as I stood at the armoire contemplating my wardrobe.

“You are only now realizing this?” Elladan asked jokingly.

“I am serious, Ell,” I replied, turning to him with the robes in my hand. “I am giving her what she wants and condemning myself to living a lie.”

Elladan gaped at me. “Are you telling me…?”  


“I love her.”

“Then why are you doing this? Why did you not refuse?”

“Because she asked for me and because your father told me he would refuse my suit regardless of my decision about tonight.”

“Why would he refuse your suit? I would think that you and Arwen would be a perfect match.”

“You would think,” I replied cynically. “Do you remember his vision about Arwen being key to fighting the Shadow?” Elladan nodded. “Well, apparently, her choice of whom to love has a role to play, and I am not allowed to interfere with that.”

“Mellon nín,” Elladan said, pulling me into his embrace. “I am sorry.”

“So am I,” I replied sadly, “but at least I will have something of her. I will not be allowed to court her, but for tonight, at least, I will be allowed to love her.”

“You will always hold a place in her heart, you know. She will not forget her Cuivië, and it need not stop with tonight. As long as you do not speak of your feelings or try to turn it into a courtship, you can remain her lover until she finds the one she is meant to bond with. It is not perfect, but as you said, it is something.”

“But so much less than my heart desires. Ai, Elbereth. Help me with my braids, Ell. I have never been able to put lover’s braids in my own hair.”

“You are not supposed to be able to, Legolas. That is why they are called lover’s braids.”

I glared at him. “Just do it so I can get dressed.”

Elladan started work on my braids, interspersing the beads and the silver ribbons that indicated my status that evening. The Imladris Elves had a tradition for celebrations. Silver ribbons for those seeking a partner, gold for those already pledged, for the evening or longer. Then, he helped me into the silvery robes I had chosen, and my thoughts were drawn back to the matter at hand. I noticed as I glanced at Elladan that his elegant braids sported silver ribbons. I did not expect it to take long for him to find a partner.

When my companion deemed me fit for polite company, we left my rooms and made our way to the Hall of Fire where the celebration would begin. As the evening wore on, it would spill into the gardens and beyond, but first, we gathered to feast.

Though it was no secret whom Arwen had chosen, tradition required her to appear to search among the crowd for a suitable partner. Thus the silver ribbons in my hair. The choice of partners for a Cuivië was never left to chance, but appearances were at least maintained. To this end, I was seated with other visiting Elves from Mirkwood and Lórien. I made desultory conversation with three of the Galadhrim I knew from my visits there. Haldir, Rumil and Orophin, adopted sons of the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood, were, if not my close friends, certainly more than passing acquaintances. They were also, quite possibly, the only ones in the room who did not know that I was Arwen’s choice. As the end of the feast drew near, they began to speculate on her choice and on the delights awaiting the Elf she chose.

“Look at her,” Rumil said. “She is enough to stir the lust of any Elf.” I certainly agreed with that. Arwen was a delight to the senses in her cream colored gown that contrasted so starkly with her dark hair, braided, like mine, in lover’s braids adorned with silver ribbons. Just the sight of those ribbons was enough to send desire trembling through me.

“Aye, I envy the Elf she has chosen for tonight. To be the first to taste such sweetness,” Orophin sighed.

“There is more to the Lady than meets the eye,” I interrupted, perturbed by the turn in the conversation. Though none could deny her beauty, least of all me, I resented seeing her objectified by these two who knew so little about her.

“Perhaps,” Rumil replied, “but who cares when she is what meets the eye?”

“Insolent pup,” Haldir growled, reading the stony look in my eyes. I was glad he had intervened. Rumil would accept the scolding from his brother, but most likely not from me. “Tell us about her, ernil nín, for we know little of the Lady in the Golden Wood.”

“She is very much her father’s daughter,” I answered, searching for a way to talk about her without giving too much away. Confiding in Elladan and, by extension, in Elrohir was one thing – they were my best friends. Confiding in the Geledhil was something totally different. “Both warrior and healer.”

“Warrior?” Orophin scoffed.

“Do not mock until you have seen her,” I countered. “I said the same until she disarmed me. She cannot best me in archery, but her skill at swordplay is exceptional.”

“Strange that one so fair should learn such things,” Haldir observed.

It was not my place to reveal Elrond’s predictions. I was saved from replying by the end of the feast. Elrond invited everyone outside where the dancing would begin. Minstrels set up to one side, led by the infamous Lindir. Elves began to pair off for the dancing. I trailed behind the others, having no desire to dance with anyone besides my lovely Arwen, but it would be hours yet before she would approach me. I would have to endure watching her in the arms of others until then.

With the feast over, I could rejoin Elrohir and Elladan. I hoped Elladan had held his tongue about my feelings, but I did not think it likely. He would not gossip openly, but he had never kept secrets from his brother. Elrohir’s sympathetic look when I joined them told me that my secret was secret no more, at least not from him. He would say nothing, of course, and their presence was a balm to my soul. I could wait out the evening in their company without the bawdy comments I would probably hear elsewhere in the crowd.

The twins endeavored to amuse me with pithy comments on the ribbons chosen by various Elves. Who must have had a fight with whom, for why else would a certain Elf be wearing silver ribbons? What might the gold ribbons in another Elf’s hair mean? Who was he promised to when no one knew anything of a relationship? Their light-hearted gossip took the edge off my nerves. I was able, at last, to relax and enjoy the festive atmosphere. Finally, I could tolerate the lustful glances cast Arwen’s way with some equanimity. She was beautiful, after all. An Elf would have to be blind not to desire her, but tonight she would choose me. I was the one with the right to stroke her silky hair, caress her pale skin, make her moan with passion for me alone. Yes, I could afford to be patient with the looks and the comments cast in her direction. Tonight, she would be mine.

I was still naïve enough not to consider the cost I would pay and in truth, I paid little for many, many years. Until she met Aragorn. But that was not for more than two and a half millennia.

In the end, I danced a few of the dances. After all, I had silver ribbons in my hair. Even though I was not really available to anyone except Arwen, appearances had to be maintained. After what seemed like an eternity – yes, even immortals can feel the time drag when waiting for a special moment – Celebrían came to my side.

“Hiril nín,” I said, bowing.

“Grant me a dance, ernil-neth,” she murmured. I could no more refuse the Lady of Imladris than I could have refused Arwen so I followed her into the swirl of color on the grass. She was silent as we began to dance, but I knew Celebrían. She had sought me out for a reason. I waited patiently for her to explain.

“I do not have to tell you what an important rite this is in the life of an Elfling. You will take good care of my daughter, will you not, Legolas?”

“Of course, hiril nín.” I could feel the blush spreading up my cheeks to the tips of my ears. I had no qualms about the evening, but discussing the object of my desire with her mother was disconcerting.

“Good,” Celebrían replied. “She will find you soon. Enjoy the night, pen-neth.”

There was no way to reply to that without further embarrassing myself so I just nodded and bowed to the Lady as the dance came to an end. I was making my way back to the twins when the voice that haunted my dreams spoke from behind me. “Ernil nín.” My prince. I knew that she spoke my title, that her words were a courtesy, not an endearment, but they resonated in my soul nonetheless. I turned to meet her eyes. They sparkled with life, with excitement, perhaps even with passion.

“Hiril nín,” I replied with a bow. She heard my words as a courtesy, but they were my vow to her. She was and would always be my lady. 

“You have not danced with me tonight.”

“I have been remiss,” I replied, “though you have not lacked for partners.”

“I have not had the partner I desire.”

I did not know, I still do not know if she chose those words deliberately, for there were no set words she had to say to indicate her choice, but deliberate or not, their effect on me was immediate. I sent grateful thanks to the Valar that I was wearing robes, not my usual tunic and leggings. The robes hid the arousal caused by her words. “Then we must rectify that situation immediately.” I choked the words out of a mouth suddenly dry with nerves. I held out my hand to her and she took it, her fingers in mine causing the already familiar tingles. I had no idea how I was going to manage a dance with her, let alone several. Having approached me, she would remain at my side until it was time for us to retire to her chambers. Erestor and Glorfindel had left the celebration after the feast and had returned a few minutes before I danced with Celebrían, so I knew that all was in readiness for us within. It was only a matter of time and my self-control. 

Elvish translations

Melethril – lover (female) 

Ae syntrea chen – please 

Aníron chen– I want you 

Echado veleth enni – make love to me 

Irmen – my desire 

Miqulo nin – kiss me 

Nach vain – you are beautiful

Melin chen – I love you 

Irmon chen– I desire you

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Chapter 6

Arwen did indeed stay by my side for the rest of the evening. In fact, she could not have gotten much closer to me in public. I knew she was an innocent – no Elf of experience would have kissed me the way she had by the waterfall – but she had obviously been observing the couples who had already found partners for the evening. She brushed against me at every turn, using her shoulder, her hip, her arm to caress me, playing the game of seduction with more skill than I would have expected from an Elf her age. She was no master yet, but she was playing wholeheartedly. Even if our pairing had not already been established, I would have known, just from her actions, that she desired me as her partner for the evening. If she desired to show her choice by her actions, I would gladly return the favor. The difference being that I was a master at the art of seduction.

I leaned toward her to propose another dance, letting my lips almost touch the sensitive tip of her ear. I felt a shiver run through her as she accepted. When we had danced before, my hand had settled, very correctly in the small of her back. This time, I allowed it to drift fractionally lower. Not enough to scandalize, just enough to entice. The grassy area occupied by the dancers was still crowded, providing cover to pull her just a little closer than before, so that my thighs brushed against hers as we moved. I had seen hints of passion in her eyes when she had joined me earlier. They were hints no more. There in the blue depths, I saw what I had longed to see since the day I had returned to Imladris. Desire. Not in the general, but in the specific. Desire for me. I glanced up at Ithil’s progress across the sky. Though I had already had my fill of custom that night, I knew we could not leave before Ithil reached its height in the night sky. I had never cared much about convention, but I would not disrespect Lord Elrond by flaunting tradition on such an important night. Even when Arwen’s nearness had all but brought me to my knees with desire. Arwen must have followed my gaze, for she asked breathlessly, “How long until we can leave?” 

“Soon,” I replied, letting my lips touch her ear this time. She gasped, her eyes darting up to look at me. I read something akin to panic there and realized that I had overwhelmed her. “Worry not,” I whispered, “you can return the favor when we are alone.”

The shiver that ran through her then had nothing to do with panic. “How soon?” she asked. Ai, her impatience was not helping. Just the thought of what was to come was almost enough to push me over the edge. The leggings I wore beneath my robes were uncomfortably tight, and growing tighter with every glance, every word, every touch. I glanced at Ithil again. “Ten minutes, melethril.” I felt incredibly daring using the endearment. Even if it was not the one I would have preferred, it was an accurate one. She was about to be my lover. I led her into one more dance, hoping that we could slip away when it was finished. 

I looked around, seeking Elrond, or even better, Celebrían. I wanted someone to give me tacit approval to leave early. I was fairly sure that Celebrían, at least, would give that approval. Arwen took advantage of my distraction, moving her hand from my shoulder to my ear. I gasped, only barely suppressing a moan. It appeared she was not content to wait until we were alone to pay me back for my earlier caress. Suddenly, I cared not what the others thought. I took her hand and led her from the dancers, toward the house. 

“Legolas?” she asked timidly.

“It is time,” was all I could reply in the state I was in. My feelings must have been catching, for she was soon leading me through the darkened corridors to her rooms. She opened the door, preceding me inside, and stood speechless. I stepped inside behind her, closing the door, and considered the bower that Erestor and Glorfindel had prepared for us. Though it was a comfortably warm night, a fire burned gently in the fireplace, a nest of blankets and pillows arranged in front of it. Candles burned, giving the room a soft glow, and illuminating the flowers throughout the room. My eyes searched the flowers, seeing the pink camellia that spoke of my longing for Arwen, the daffodils that proclaimed my unrequited love, the jonquils that told of my desire, the gardenias that promised ecstasy, the ivy that swore my fidelity. Finally, I found what I sought. A red tulip and the fleur-de-lys. The tulip was my declaration of love, though my love understood it not. The fleur-de-lys was a plea. “I burn,” I whispered, handing her the fleur-de-lys.

She looked surprised, whether at my admission or at the flower, I do not know, but she took the flower from my hand. “As do I,” she admitted softly.

It took all my will not to sweep her into my arms and into bed at that very moment, but she deserved better than a hasty coupling. She deserved all my patience and control, all the drawn-out, tender lovemaking I could provide. I settled in front of the fire, reaching for the red tulip, and held out my hand. She joined me on the soft cushions, moving easily into my arms. I brushed a soft kiss over the crown of her head, then tilted her chin up to brush the tulip across her lips. “You kissed me once before,” I murmured. “Shall I kiss you now?”

“Ae syntrea chen,” she answered. That was all the permission I needed. My lips settled lightly on hers, relishing their velvety softness. She was soon returning my chaste kisses. I parted my lips, to taste her sweetness. She gasped and pulled away. I bent my head back to hers, kissing her again, touching my tongue to her lips softly. “Fear not, irmen. I will do nothing tonight that you do not want. Will you let me show you what we can create together?”

“Aye,” she whispered. “Echado veleth enni.”

I forced myself to smile, to stay where I was and not pounce on her right then. “Oh, I will make love to you, but promise me that you will tell me if I do something you do not like.”

“I promise.”

I took her lips again, in a searing kiss this time, invading her mouth, letting her feel the depth of my passion and, though she saw it not, of my love. At first, she was passive under my onslaught, but soon she began to respond. When the tip of her tongue first tentatively touched mine, I thought I would lose my mind. Again, I forced myself to stillness, encouraging her to explore, to taste me as I had tasted her. She gained confidence quickly, even to the point of pushing me back into the pillows so she could move over me. I had no intention of doing anything to dissuade her so I reclined against the cushions, reveling in the freedom to kiss her, in the pleasure of her body pressing down on mine as she leaned over me. After many long moments, she pulled back to stare at me inquiringly. I cocked an eyebrow at her.

“What comes next?” she asked.

I chose actions rather than words, rolling her back into the cushions to come up over her again. I traced the contours of her face with gentle caresses before kissing her delicate cheekbones, eyes, forehead, moving finally to the pointed tip of her ear. She cried out softly as I ran my tongue over the sensitive spot. Her hand flew to her mouth as if to smother the sound. I caught her fingers in mine and raised them to my lips. “There is no one to hear, melethril, and no secret about what we are doing. I want to hear your cries.”

She looked puzzled so I leaned back again, tilting my head to give her access to my own ear. Her glance asked permission. I nodded encouragingly as she ran gentle fingers over the curve of my ear. I gasped at the electric contact. Then, she reciprocated the caress that had wrung a cry from her. I groaned, both from the innocent touch and from the desire to have so much more. The puzzled look faded to one of satisfaction at the sound. I could not resist that look. I pulled her mouth back to mine, tongue tangling with hers again. As we kissed, I ran my hand down the length of her hair, then back up her side to the delicate line of her collarbone, bared by the scooped neckline of her dress. My fingers encountered the fine chain that held her jewel, the Evenstar for which she was named. I traced down the chain to touch the pendant. Arwen trembled at my touch. I bent my head and followed the same path with my mouth, outlining the jewel against her skin with the tip of my tongue. She smelled of lilac. Youth, innocence, the first emotions of love. I knew the scent was coincidental, that she had not chosen it to evoke the meanings that I had just identified, but it was enough to send me over the edge. My body shook with release against hers.

“Legolas?” she asked, sitting up, concern in her voice.

“It is nothing, irmen. Lie back and let me love you.” Fortunately, she was naïve enough not to realize what had just happened, and the small orgasm gave me a measure of control that I would not have had without it. I kissed her again, reweaving the spell that had held us captive before my loss of control. Reaching up gently, I brushed the strap of her dress off her shoulder, placing a soft kiss on the skin revealed. I repeated the action on the other side. Then, I reached behind her, seeking her laces. I found only smooth silk. Arwen giggled a little as she raised one arm. “Here,” she whispered. I found the laces and loosened them, drawing the gown down to reveal her breasts. For a moment, all I could do was stare. She was perfect. 

When I could finally move again, I trailed the back of my fingers across her skin, amazed that she was real, that she was here with me, that I was allowed to touch and to taste. Her hand came up to touch my face. I turned my head and pressed a kiss into her palm. She drew my lips back to hers with gentle pressure, her hands busy with the ribbons that held my braids. She ran her fingers through my hair as I kissed her luscious mouth before moving down to her neck. I sucked gently at the skin there, choosing not to mark her skin, though a part of me wanted all of Rivendell to know that I had loved her well. Later, when she understood more, I would give her the choice to bear my mark or not. As her fingers tangled in my hair, I moved lower still, grazing the top of her breasts, nuzzling between them as I moved to place butterfly kisses on her flat stomach. I felt her tug on my hair. I looked up at her face. She was so beautiful to me at that moment. Her face was flushed, lips parted, eyes dark with desire. She pulled again. I let her guide my head back to her breasts. I met her eyes once more before settling to feast on her bounty. I nipped and nibbled, before pulling one taut nipple as far into my mouth as I could. The sounds she was making goaded me on. I switched my attention to her other breast. Her hands left my hair and were searching for the laces on my robes. I let her push them away. The light shirt I was wearing underneath would hide the stain on my leggings for the moment. Since she had already distracted me, I sat up and helped her remove the robes completely. She followed me up, running her hands over my chest. The friction of the silk and the heat of her hands sent shockwaves through me. My own passion, which had been partially sated by my earlier orgasm, returned full force. I resisted the temptation to guide her hands lower. I did not want to pressure her. This night was for her, not for me, so I let her set the pace. Finally, her hands made their torturous way down my body to brush across my erection. My whole body jerked at the contact, causing her to withdraw. 

“Díhen…” I cut the words off with an almost brutal kiss. I never wanted to hear those words connected with any caress she bestowed on me.

“You did not hurt me,” I told her when I broke the kiss to breathe. “Your touch feels wonderful.” Since she had touched me once, I brought her hands back to touch me again, guiding them a little, showing her how best to please me. When I feared my release would come again, I pulled her hands away and removed her dress. She looked a little hesitant so I asked, “Would it help if I finished undressing?” She nodded silently. I rose and turned away to surreptitiously clean myself up as I removed my shirt and leggings. I realized as I turned back to face her that I was nervous.

“Nach vain.” Her words reassured me. If she could find me beautiful, she was not scared of what was to come.

“You said that to me once before,” I told her. “That time, you kissed me and ran. What are you going to do this time?”

She made no reply but took my hand instead, drawing me back beside her, bare skin coming into contact with bare skin for the first time. Shivering at the sensation, I ran my hands possessively down her back, over her buttocks to her long legs and back up again. She was busy doing the same to me. One hand lingered finally on my flat nipples while the other returned to the erection pressing against my stomach. I reveled in her touch, in touching her. I wanted this intimacy to last as long as possible, but I was fast reaching my limit. If she continued as she was, I would spill my seed in her hand, and I doubted she was ready for that, even as fast as she was taking to lovemaking. I pulled away enough to spoon her back against me, giving me unfettered access to her body. She started to protest, but her protests stilled when I tweaked her nipples before sliding one hand into the curls at the base of her stomach. My fingers explored her folds, finding them wet already with the evidence of her desire. I probed gently at her entrance, willing her body to react. When her hips rose in unconscious entreaty, I could have sung for joy. I added a second finger and probed deeper, seeking the barrier that would block my entrance. It was barely there, a testament to her time spent on horseback. Good. She would know only passion and none of the pain associated with Cuivië. She squirmed against me as I withdrew my fingers. 

“Aníron…” she cried, tossing her head.

“What do you want?” I prompted softly.

“Aníron chen,” she answered.

I rolled her beneath me, positioning myself between her thighs. “Miqulo nin,” I said as my erection nudged her entrance. She leaned up to kiss me. I caught her lips, tongue surging into her mouth as I slipped inside her body. Just an inch. Just enough to give her a taste. Then I withdrew. “Nay,” she cried, grabbing at my hips. My body agreed completely, so I moved a little deeper inside her, rocking as I did, to give her a chance to adjust to the intrusion. I felt her barrier give way, but I doubt she was even aware of it, for she gave no indication that she felt any pain. Still, I moved slowly, tenderly, thrust and withdraw, inch by inch sliding inside her tight passage. Finally, I was seated deep inside her, as deep as I could go. Melin chen. I said the words over and over in my heart as I rocked deep inside her, but they were words I could never say aloud. “Irmon chen,” I whispered instead.

Arwen moved restlessly beneath me, not satisfied by the gentle rocking of my hips. I picked up the pace, withdrawing more before thrusting back into her. She followed my lead easily, moaning and whimpering in delight. Soon I found that my body had a will all its own, that the rhythm was no longer mine to control as our bodies strove for completion. That moment, when it came, was the sweetest of my life. Her soft cries mingled with mine. Her essence mingled with my seed. Her dark hair mingled with my blond hair on the pillow as I collapsed beside her. If the world had ended at that moment, I would have been eternally happy.

Elvish translations

Meldis – friend (female) 

Pen-velui – lovely one

Melethron – lover (male) 

Lothen – my flower

Pen-vain – beautiful one 

Annorn – harder

Miqulo nin – kiss me

Ae syntrea chen – please

Chapter 7

I lay still at Arwen’s side for long minutes before I stirred. “Meldis,” I murmured against her neck, “how are you feeling?”

A purr was her only reply. I took that to mean that all was well with her. I rose with the idea of finding a cloth to clean us up, but I quickly changed my mind. The night was far from over, and I wanted to take advantage of every second. I went into the bathroom and set the water to filling the pool there. I found the bottle of cleansing oil and added some to the water. As the scent of lilac rose with the steam, I returned to Arwen’s side. She lay exactly as I had left her, an absolute vision of wanton fulfillment. Everything I desired in Arda was right before my eyes. I knelt beside her and braided the part of her hair not confined in the lover’s braids, using the silver ribbons to secure the long braid at the nape of her neck. I had no desire to have wet hair in the bed I hoped we would soon be sharing. When her hair was secure, I reached up to braid my own.

“Let me,” she interrupted, coming to her knees beside me. I acquiesced, turning to give her access. That simple touch seemed suddenly more intimate than all that had already passed between us, especially when I realized that I had never before let a lover braid my hair. Amazingly, I felt my erection beginning to return again. As soon as she was done with my braid, I scooped her up into my arms and carried her to the bathroom, filled with fragrant steam. I lowered her into the water before joining her there. We soaked for some time in companionable silence. I had closed my eyes, trying to imprint every sensation on my memory, when I felt a soft cloth moving across my skin. Arwen had taken advantage of my distraction. Eyes still closed, I settled deeper into the water and let her hands wander as they pleased. When she had touched me before, we had both been caught in a haze of passion. Our earlier climax had cleared some of that haze, and I could sense the curiosity in Arwen’s touch. She was learning my body with her hands and, I imagined, with her eyes. I was tempted to peek from beneath my eyelashes so I could see her expression, but I did not want my gaze to inhibit her. Her hands traced the lines of my muscles, up my arms, across my chest and abdomen, down my thighs and calves, even the soles of my feet. Then, they began a return journey up my legs, stopping at my groin. I groaned in pleasure as one hand folded around my semi-erect length, the other reaching between my legs to cup the sacs there. I spread my legs to give her better access. The desire to see her as she touched me so intimately grew overwhelming. I resisted at first, but finally I could not help myself. I opened my eyes and caught a glimpse of the fascination on her face before she felt my gaze. Her hands stopped caressing, and she blushed.

“Close your eyes,” she pleaded. “I can not do this if you are watching me.”

I complied quickly, not wanting her to stop her ministrations. I began to thrust with the rhythm of her hands. I had not expected to become so aroused again so quickly after I had spent twice in a short span of time, but the magic of the night seemed to have affected me, for I could feel the tingling that signaled yet another climax. Before I could even utter a warning, my seed shot into the water, covering my stomach and Arwen’s hand. 

I opened my eyes then, face flushed with embarrassment, but the delight in Arwen’s eyes eased my mortification. “I did that to you,” she murmured in amazement.

“You do many things to me, pen-velui, including arousing me beyond control. I really had imagined taking a bath when I brought you in here.”

“Are you complaining?” she asked with a flirtatious smile. Elbereth help me, what had I unleashed?

“Nay,” I replied, “I am not complaining, but I do think we should clean up and retire to a more comfortable setting.”

She agreed eagerly, taking back up the cloth she had used earlier. I let her wash me again, but I refused to let her linger. I wanted to make love to her again, in ways made difficult, if not impossible, by the water. Then, if the Valar smiled upon me, perhaps she would reciprocate.

I got out of the tub and wrapped a towel around my waist, not bothering to dry off. The cool water felt good in the steamy air. Then, I helped Arwen out as well, picking up another towel to dry her skin. As she had done earlier, I used the cloth as an excuse to touch every inch of her skin, long, slender arms, elegant shoulders, rounded breasts, flat stomach, long legs, graceful feet. She was trembling by the time I was done. I hooked one arm behind her knees, lifting her into my arms again. 

“I can walk, you know,” she told me laughingly.

“I know, but I like carrying you. Do you mind?”

She thought about it for a moment before replying. “Nay.”

“Good,” I said, stealing a quick kiss before carrying her to the bed. I released the braid I had made to keep her hair from getting wet, but not the lover’s braids or the silver ribbons. I stopped her when she reached up to remove the rest of the braids. 

“Leave them,” I requested.

“Why?” she asked, puzzled.

My mind raced for a moment, trying to find a way to explain what I was feeling without giving too much away. I could not very well tell her that I had been fantasizing for weeks about seeing lover’s braids in her hair. I had not known weeks before that we would have this night. I settled on telling her at least part of the truth. “This is the first time anyone has ever worn lover’s braids for me. Seeing them, and the ribbons, reminds me that you chose me. This is also the first time I have ever worn braids from a lover,” I told her, gesturing to the plait she had put in my hair earlier.

“I will braid your hair whenever you want,” she told me fervently. 

“In the morning, then,” I replied, releasing the ties. She reached up and loosened the braids as she had done before. I leaned forward as she leaned back, letting the long strands flow across her stomach and breasts. Then I reached for one full breast, kneading it as my mouth settled on the nipple of the other breast.

She let out a sharp cry. I paused, looking up to check on her before returning to my task. The quick glance had shown me eyes glazed with passion.

I licked my way down her stomach to her navel, pausing to tickle her there before continuing to the crease where her thigh joined her hip. My hands ran down her legs, caressing the silky skin before spreading her knees so that I could kneel between them. I glanced at her again, to make sure she was still accepting what I was doing. Then, I dropped butterfly kisses on the inside of each of her thighs. I stretched out on the bed, resting my head just for a second on her stomach. Then I moved down a little farther to press a tender kiss to the curls at the base of her stomach and then one to the petals between her widespread legs. 

“Legolas?” she entreated.

I made no reply, simply kissed her again, tongue flicking out to taste her. She tasted of the bath, the oil that had scented the water, and another sweet taste that was all her own. She bucked against my mouth. I gripped her hips lightly to hold her in place as I feasted, nipping and licking at the delicate folds before pushing my tongue as far inside her as I could. She called my name again, the breathless sound pushing me to greater exertions. I wanted her absolutely mindless with need. I succeeded. She let out another cry and climaxed against my mouth. I lapped up every drop I could catch, loving the effect I had on her. Loving her. When the spasms slowed and then stopped, I kissed my way back up her body to her lips.

I reclined next to her, stroking the curve of her cheek gently as she recovered. Slowly, awareness came back into her eyes. “Melethron,” she whispered. She looked so irresistible, I had to kiss her again. 

“I am here, lothen.”

“Can…” She hesitated. I could sense her nervousness. “Can I do that to you?”

The Valar be praised! “You can do anything to me you want, pen-vain,” I reassured her. She pushed me onto my back, running her fingers through my hair spread over her pillow. She kissed my lips softly, then with more passion, taking control of the kiss and of my mouth. The fingers in my hair found the tips of my ears, stroking so lightly that I could barely feel it. I strained in anticipation of the next feather light touch, turning my head to try and deepen the caress. She was turning into quite the temptress. Her lips moved down my neck, sucking gently on the skin.

“Annorn,” I pleaded.

She looked surprised. “But, will that not hurt?”

“Ai, no,” I gasped. “It will not hurt.” She did as I asked, sucking redness to the surface, branding me with her passion as I had not dared brand her. I moaned delightedly. She moved lower, pressing tentative kisses on my collarbone and across the muscles of my chest. I fisted my hands in the sheets to resist the temptation to move her mouth to my nipples. They were erect, already begging for her touch. She circled them, agonizingly slow. “You can do anything to me you want,” I repeated breathlessly.

It seemed that was all the permission she needed. Her lips and teeth latched onto one nipple with astonishing ferocity. I cried out, my hands leaving the sheets to hold her head in place. “Ae syntrea chen,” I begged. The mixture of innocence and brazenness in her touch was driving me wild. Never had I felt such mind-numbing passion. I knew I babbled as she continued to nibble and lick at my nipples, alternating between them.

When she had enough of that, she moved lower, taking my erection in her hand again. “Miqulo nin,” I whispered just as she took me in her mouth. I lay there, stunned by the intensity of the sensation. Her mouth was hot, wet, inviting, the ridge of her teeth scraping erotically against my skin. Her tongue slid around me, caressing, exploring, tasting. I forced my hips to stillness, not wanting to thrust into her inexperienced mouth. When the urge to move became too much to bear, I reached down and drew her up over my body, until her hips were just above mine. I tested her readiness quickly, for even with my mind clouded by passion, I knew I never wanted to hurt her. Fortunately, she was as aroused as I was. I drew her hips down until the tip of my shaft nudged her folds.

“What do I do?” she asked.

“Sit up.”

She did, the motion impaling her on my erection. I groaned hoarsely as I felt her passage accept me.

“All right?” I asked when I was fully sheathed inside her.

She rocked her hips in reply. I helped her raise up, guiding her movements until she caught the rhythm. Then my hands dropped back to the sheets as I let her set the pace. Twice she brought me to the brink of completion before slowing again, drawing out our lovemaking. Finally, passion ruled us both, and we went over together. She collapsed in my arms, totally replete.

“I want to stay like this,” she mumbled, sleep filling her voice.

“Whatever you want,” I promised. I know she had yet to realize it, but she held all the power in our relationship. Until the day she died, she had only to ask and I did everything in my power to grant her desire. Even standing at her side as she bound herself to another, a man, a mortal whose death caused her own.

Elvish translations

Aníron chen – I want you 

Si – now

Sell nín – my daughter 

Tolo – come

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Thêl – sister

Pen-vaelui – lusty one

Chapter 8

I awoke the next morning with Arwen asleep on my chest. I was still buried inside her, and her nearness was quickly affecting me. I needed to move her and withdraw. I had already made love to her twice. I could not, in all conscience, take her again, though I certainly desired her. I had promised Celebrían that I would take good care of Arwen. Leaving her too sore to walk did not seem the right way to fulfill that promise.

I shifted beneath her, planning to roll her to her side so I could back away. “Nay,” she murmured, half asleep, arms wrapping around me to hold me still. “Stay.”

“Arwen, we need to get up. Arien rises.”

“Nay,” she said again, burrowing against me. My body was reacting predictably to her movements. She must have felt my arousal growing for her burrowing quickly became more purposeful.

“We should not do this again. I do not want to hurt you.”

“I am in no pain. Aníron chen. Si.” Her lips descended on mine, demanding entrance. I would have protested one more time, just for form, if I could have caught my breath, but she was relentless. I succumbed to her desires, but I had a few of my own. When I had first seen her, I had imagined her hair unbound on the pillow. I reached up and loosened her braids, removing the ribbons. Then I ran my fingers through the silky tresses. When her hair flowed freely through my fingers, I rolled her beneath me, still intimately joined. Despite her words, I was not convinced that this would not hurt her. I softened the kiss, gentling her. I would give her what she wanted – how could I not? – but I would do so on my terms. When we had made love during the night, I had been careful to support most of my weight on my arms, leaving Arwen free to move as she pleased. This time, I settled fully on top of her, restricting her movements, making it impossible for her to set the pace of our lovemaking. I rocked against her, deep inside, languorous motions, nothing that could possibly abrade the sensitive tissue of her passage. My tongue invaded her mouth with the same languid rhythm. At first, she fought against me, trying to speed up the rhythm or elongate the thrusts, but I held to my plan. Soon, though, she realized the beauty and the power of tenderness, succumbing again to passion, but of a very different flavor. I continued as I was, never quickening the pace, until we found completion, not in a great rush, as we had the night before, but in slow, powerful waves that seemed to go on and on.

As soon as I could bear to be parted from her, I rose from the bed. “Tolo,” I told her, “we should bathe.”

She followed me into the bathroom, no thought to modesty, even with passion no longer blurring our senses, much to my delight. If she was that comfortable with me, perhaps our relationship as lovers would outlast the night. We bathed slowly, cherishing the remaining time we had together before we had to face the rest of Imladris. They would be expecting us at breakfast. After we had bathed, we returned to the bedroom to dress. I slipped back on the leggings and shirt I had worn beneath my robes. I needed to return to my own rooms to change before we ate, but the shirt and leggings would get me there. I reached for the comb by Arwen’s mirror and began to work out the tangles in my hair. Arwen’s hand swatted mine away, taking the comb from me and picking up the task of fixing my hair. I looked at her, surprised.

“You said I could braid your hair this morning. You are not going back on that promise, are you?”

“Of course not,” I protested. “I would never break a promise to you.”

A contented smile spread across her lips as she began to braid my hair. Lover’s braids, I noticed. As she was working, she caught sight of the small bruise she had left on my throat the night before. “Did I do this?” she asked, brushing her fingers across my skin.

“You did,” I replied with a smile. 

“Díhena nin. I did not mean to mark you.”

“I am not sorry,” I assured her. “I am proud to wear your mark. All of Imladris will know that you loved me well.”

“Then you must give me one as well.”

“Arwen,” I laughed. “That is not how it works. I can not just…”

“Why not?”

“They are given in a moment of passion, not in one of cold calculation.”

“But I do not want anyone to think badly of you.”

“They will think that I was too discreet to mark you where it could be seen and will wonder at what marks can not be seen,” I assured her, running one finger along the underside of her breast. “Enough talk. Let me braid your hair so I can go and change. We do not want to be late for breakfast.”

“Lover’s braids,” she insisted.

I consented, tying the elegant braids as quickly as I could. “Will you wait to go to the dining hall with me?” I asked when I had finished. She nodded.

I went to my rooms as quickly as I could, changing into my normal tunic and leggings. I glanced in the mirror before I left to return to Arwen’s room, making absolutely sure the bruise on my neck was visible. I wanted all of Rivendell, and particularly the obnoxious Geledhil brothers, to know without a doubt who it was who spent the night in Arwen’s bed. Although I hoped this night would be the first of many wonderful nights, I knew that nothing was promised, especially since, if Elrond’s predictions were to be believed, she would one day meet an Elf who would claim her heart, taking her away from me. I understood that possibility. I had since that fateful day in Elrond’s library, but I tried not to dwell on it. However unwise it was, I loved Arwen with every fiber of my being. I could not change that – I would not change that – so I cherished every moment we had together. 

We arrived in the dining hall ahead of some, after others. Everyone looked up when we came in, but no one spoke. I followed Arwen to the table where Elrond and Celebrían were seated.

“You are well, sell nín?” Celebrían asked.

“Very well,” Arwen replied with a slight blush. 

“That is good,” Celebrían answered, with a smile for me before returning to her meal. Arwen led me to the end of the table where there were empty seats. The twins came in a few minutes after we were seated, speaking to their parents before joining us.

“I see you survived the night, Legolas,” Elrohir commented.

“We were worried about you. Our sister can be fierce, but I see you discovered that for yourself,” Elladan added eyeing the bruise on my neck. I smiled and refused to be taunted. While their comments were completely expected, they knew of my feelings for Arwen, and I did not want them to reveal too much.

“Well, thêl, where is your mark?” Elrohir asked impudently

“Legolas would never leave a mark where others could see,” Arwen answered regally. She was good. She told no lies, and yet her brothers clearly believed that I had left marks aplenty beneath the veil of her clothes.

“Next time, pen-vaelui,” I whispered to her.

“Next time,” she promised.

We spent an idyllic week together, making love every chance we got, riding the valley, finding secluded areas in the woods and along the banks of the Bruinen to be alone together. Then a messenger arrived from Mirkwood. My father was recalling me home. Spiders had again invaded our woods, and I was needed to help with the patrols. Arwen and I spoke no promises as we said our goodbyes, making love tenderly one last time before I left. She would not ask anything of me, and I could not ask her for the one thing I wanted. All of Imladris came to see me off, it seemed. Arwen and I had said our good-byes in private, but I wished for one last moment to savor her presence before I left, not knowing when we would see each other again. Our eyes met across the courtyard as my escort prepared to leave. When we reached the top of the hill, I paused to look back at the Last Homely House. So much had changed since we arrived, scant weeks earlier, that I barely recognized myself as the Elf who had come to negotiate trade agreements with Lord Elrond. The courtyard had emptied as we rode, leaving only Arwen still standing there, watching us leave. Melin chen, my mind shouted to her as I raised my hand in a final salute turned to ride for home.

Elvish translations

Meldir – friend (male) 

Hîr nín – my lord

Ernil-neth – young prince 

Melethron – lover (male)

Irmen– my desire

Chapter 9

The situation that greeted me upon my return to Mirkwood was grave. My father, though willing to trade with Rivendell and Lórien, was too proud to ask for aid defending our borders. We fought for every inch of ground, but we could not stop the encroaching darkness. For fifty years, we fought. I watched as Elves I had known since birth succumbed to Orc poison or faded when the loss of loved ones was more than they could bear. I dreamed often of Arwen during those dark times, praying that she was safe, untouched by the Shadow, and that I would live to see her again. The thought of her was all that kept me sane some nights, when it seemed no hope remained. I would force my mind into the half-sleep where I was only just aware of the world around me, but with my mind still mine to control, and I would return to Imladris, reliving the precious days I had spent with my beloved. I would awake, if not refreshed, then at least restored enough to face whatever the next day brought. 

The winter of the fiftieth year after my departure from Imladris was particularly harsh. The weather was colder and wetter than usual, making it more difficult to patrol the woods.

It was on one especially miserable night, still early in winter, that disaster struck my patrol. The temperature hovered at freezing; the rain that fell seemed more like needles of ice than like water. We could barely see beyond the Elf in front of us. How the Orcs sensed us, I do not know, but arrows came out of the darkness. They were not well aimed. Indeed, most of the first volley missed their targets, but one embedded itself deeply in my thigh. The pain was intense. I grabbed the shaft and pulled it from my flesh, smelling the tip to check for poison. An acrid smell reached my nose. It was poisoned. I shouted orders to my second-in-command as I bound my leg. I had to get to the healers as quickly as possible if I was to survive the poison.

The two Elves closest to me guarded my back as I headed for home. They were the only two of my patrol to survive the night.

The fever from the poison kept me unconscious and trapped in nightmares for two weeks, much longer than it had affected anyone who had survived. When I finally awoke, I was as weak as a newborn, barely able to move, every touch an agony. Spring came before I was able to leave my bed for more than a few hours.

Not satisfied with the rate of my recovery, the healers decided to send me to Rivendell as soon as I was strong enough, and the weather clear enough, for me to travel.

Strangely enough, news of my impending trip seemed to help my recovery, though only a little. By the time the roads were passable, I had just enough strength to make the journey, albeit more slowly than I normally would have.

My father’s healers had included a lengthy missive to Elrond, which I delivered, along with myself, into his care. Elrond installed me in the Houses of Healing and began trying to heal me. Elladan and Elrohir were often at my bedside, trying to keep me entertained since Elrond had confined me to my rooms. Glorfindel and Erestor came as well, indulging my desire to know every detail of Arwen’s life since my departure, but she, the one whose presence I desired most, did not come.

I forced myself to wait three days before breaking down and asking the twins where Arwen was, for Erestor and Glorfindel had not told me that. Elladan told me she had gone to Lórien with Celebrían to visit Galadriel and Celeborn. My recovery, which had sped up since hearing I was coming to Imladris, stopped altogether. I lost my appetite and quickly lost the weight I had gained in the weeks before my trip. The wound, though closed, remained red and painful. I could move about, but I tired more and more quickly each day. Elrond tried all manner of poultices and potions, all to no avail. He was considering surgery, to see if any of the arrowhead remained in my leg, which would explain the lack of healing, when Arwen came home.

I was asleep when she came in, my usual state as my body tried to heal, but the sound of her voice roused me from my dreams. I fought against waking, because I had dreamed of her so many times, only to find it a figment of my fevered imagination, that I did not want to face the disappointment again. The voice begging me to wake would not leave me alone, though, so I reluctantly opened my eyes to find Arwen sitting at my bedside.

Even awake, I was sure I was still dreaming. I would not have thought it possible, but she had grown more beautiful in the time we had been apart. At her majority, she had been on the cusp of maturity, no longer an Elfling, but not the ripe she-Elf who sat before me at that moment. If I had desired her then, my feelings suddenly multiplied tenfold. 

“What have you done to yourself, meldir?” she chided me gently, seeing my eyes open.

I tried to answer, but no words came out. She handed me a glass of water to ease my dry throat. I reached for her hand when I returned the glass to her, holding on to her as to a lifeline.

“You have returned,” I said.

“As you can see,” she answered. “Now, tell me what happened.”

To my great surprise, I did. I poured out the whole story to her, telling her of the attack, the wound, the terrifying journey home, hoping we would escape the Orcs and make it to the healers in time. I spoke to her, as I had to no one else, of my grief at finding my friends, my brothers-in-arms, dead when I finally awoke, of my guilt at having survived. “I feel so helpless,” I admitted. “I hate being sick, I hate being dependent on others. I hate being confined. I feel like I am a prisoner, and even the beauty of the surroundings cannot ease my despair. Why do I not heal?” I cried finally.

Arwen held me through my grief, my anger, my frustration, my despair. “I do not have the answers to any of your questions,” she said, “but if the answer to your healing is in Arda, Ada will find it. There is no better healer outside of Valinor.”

I knew she was right, but I dreaded the form the healing might take. “He talks of cutting my leg open again, to find the cause. I am a warrior, Arwen. That is all I know. What will I do if I cannot fight again?”

“Do not despair, Legolas,” she counseled me. “You do not know if it will come to that, but even if it does, there will always be a place for you. You will just have to find it.”

Arwen said nothing to me in those hours by my side that others had not already said, but her words brought me a comfort that the others had not. It was as if I feared her rejection should I be disabled. Her words assured me that she would remain my friend no matter the outcome. She kept me company almost constantly, holding my hand, reading to me, singing with me when I had the strength, to me when I did not. She encouraged me to eat, alternately cajoling and ordering, whichever worked best given my mood at the time.

Elrond continued to search his books for other avenues besides surgery. It had taken so long for me to recover from the first wound, he explained, that he hesitated to inflict a second one if it could be avoided. He did not come to check on me every day. My condition was stable, if not improving, and between Arwen and the twins, he would have known if my condition worsened.

Arwen had been home four days when Elrond came to check on me. He had to chase Arwen from the room before examining my leg.

“I have seen wounds before, and Legolas as well,” she told him tartly in a bid to stay at my side.

“Out,” had been Elrond’s only response. I was glad in a way that he had insisted. Arwen was right in both her statements, but I did not really want her to see my wound. I had been so proud of my body, of my unblemished skin. It seemed profane, somehow, to show her my imperfection, though she scolded me later when I admitted as much.

When she had closed the door behind her, I lifted the hem of the loose robe I was wearing, leggings being painful still against the scar. Much to my surprise, and to Elrond’s, the scar appeared less inflamed.

“What has happened?” Elrond wondered aloud.

“I do not know, hîr nín,” I told him. “I have felt stronger the last few days. Arwen has all but forced food down my throat.”

“Yet you were eating well enough in Mirkwood and did not heal,” Elrond mused. “If this improvement continues, we will not need to take more drastic measures. Continue to rest, ernil-neth. We will see what happens.”

“Could I at least sit in the gardens from time to time?” I requested. “I grow tired of these walls.”

“As long as you continue to recover. If it stops or if you grow worse, you will have to limit your forays again.”

I agreed to his conditions, eager for any opportunity to leave that room. I rose as he left, and Arwen came rushing back in, clearly perturbed at having been excluded.

“Well?” she demanded.

I was so thrilled by my impending freedom that I pulled her into my arms and kissed her before I even realized what I was doing. It was not a particularly passionate kiss, more one of celebration, of anticipation of some freedom.

“It is healing,” I told her breathlessly when our lips parted.

“That is good news,” she agreed. Then, to my surprise, she kissed me, the kind of kiss I had dreamed of during those terrible nights in the woods of home.

“Arwen?” I asked, when she drew back.

She smiled at me, a mysterious, feminine smile that I had not seen on her face before. “I am glad you are healing.”

“I am not healed yet,” I told her.

“But you will be, melethron,” she insisted, that smile still on her face.

“Are you asking me to be your lover again?” I did not want to misunderstand.

“Unless you have met someone else while you have been away.”

“There is no one else,” I assured her. Nor will there ever be, I thought, but I did not say those words aloud. I had lost the right to say any such words when I had agreed to participate in her Cuivië.

“Nor for me,” she replied.

“Irmen,” I whispered, kissing her again with more passion. Then, I laughed ruefully. “However much I desire you, I have not the strength to follow through.”

“Then we will sit together and talk and do what you can.”

“Your father has given me permission to sit in the gardens as long as I continue to improve.”

“Then let us go there now. The roses are blooming.”

I followed Arwen into the gardens and spent the afternoon with her, first sitting on a bench, then lying together propped against the roots of a tree.

That became the pattern of our days together. I rapidly gained back the weight I had lost since my injury, and less than three weeks after Arwen’s return, the scar was nothing but a white line on my thigh, the pain gone completely.

Elrond continued to observe my recovery, only interfering when he felt I was pushing myself too fast. The day after we found the scar healed, Elrond summoned me to his study. I arrived at the appointed time, a little nervous as I did not know the reason for my summons. He motioned for me to be seated.

“It appears we have a problem,” Elrond told me. “Or rather you have a problem.”

Elvish translations

Hîr nín – my lord

Pen-neth – young one 

ernil-neth – young prince

Chapter 10

“A problem, hîr nín?” I could not imagine what problem could possibly exist. I was healed, and Arwen was still as much mine as she would ever be.

“Have you been injured, even scrapes or bruises, since you were last in Imladris, other than this current injury?”

“I am a warrior, Lord Elrond. What warrior does not occasionally have those kinds of minor injuries?” Elrond had been a warrior himself. I did not imagine that he could have forgotten the kind of minor injuries that a warrior lived with regularly. Practice swords had dull edges, but they could still leave bruises, even scrapes if they slid across exposed skin.

“And have you noticed those injuries taking longer to heal than they used to?”

“I never paid attention. They healed, that was all I cared about. The only time I have ever noticed the speed of an injury healing was the time Arwen’s sword cut my hand here and it healed the same day.” I did not understand why he was asking me these questions.

Elrond looked pensive. “Did you ever have a more serious injury, one you could not treat yourself?”

“I have been lucky until this winter. What does this have to do with this problem you say I have?” I was growing impatient with the roundabout questions. I wished Elrond would get to his point so I could return to Arwen. We had plans to return to her waterfall, seeking some privacy. I was looking forward to making love to her again after so long.

“It appears, Legolas, that your healing ability has been compromised. You have taken months to recover from an injury that should have healed in a matter of weeks.”

“But I have recovered.”

“Aye, you have healed almost miraculously in the past three weeks, given your previous rate of recovery. Do you not find it odd, pen-neth, that in three weeks, you have recovered from an injury that kept you bedridden for months?” he asked incredulously

“I had not thought about it,” I admitted. “I just rejoiced in being free from pain again.”

“Well, I have thought about it, and I am troubled by my conclusions.”

“Hîr nín?” I prompted when he did not immediately continue.

“I warned you fifty years ago that Arwen was not for you.”

“And I have done nothing but fulfill the task I was given as her lover for her Cuivië,” I replied hotly.

“Nothing, Legolas? Will you deny that you have fallen in love with her?”

I could not deny it, though I knew Elrond wanted me to. I could not have Arwen, but I would not deny what I felt for her if asked. To do so would be to dishonor all that I felt. I only prayed that she would never ask me about my feelings. “I can not deny it,” I admitted, “but what does that have to do with my healing?”

“You were not exactly fading before you came to Imladris, but when you arrived here and Arwen did not meet you, not only did your healing stop, your condition actually worsened. Your unrequited feelings for Arwen are weakening you, decreasing your ability to heal. Since her return, her presence and her devotion have strengthened you and helped you heal.”

“What does that mean?”

“I do not know for sure, but I suspect that this situation will occur again if you are injured badly and Arwen is not there to care for you. You must be careful, ernil-neth. Your father can ill afford to lose you.”

“Are you saying I could die because someone else takes care of me?” I found that hard to believe.

“Not because someone else does, but because Arwen does not.” Elrond sighed. “I told you she was not for you, but you did not listen.”

“I listened,” I retorted, “but your vision does not rule my heart.”

“So I see. Do you truly understand the gravity of your situation, Legolas? In your current state of mind and heart, without Arwen to care for you, you could fade from an otherwise minor injury. Not from a bruise, or a scrape, but anything that might take you to the healers. You are so proud of being a warrior. How do you expect to be a warrior in such a state?”

“Surely I am not the only warrior in love. How do others deal with it?”

“Others have their mates waiting at home to help care for them if they are injured. Arwen will not be in Mirkwood for you, and you cannot transfer to Imladris. Your father would never permit it.”

“What do you propose I do?” I asked, trepidation in my voice.

“Forget Arwen. She cannot be yours, by tradition now as well as according to my vision. Find someone else to love.”

“Just like that,” I said bitterly. “I have loved her for fifty years, and you expect me to stop just because you say I should.”

“Fifty years is nothing to an Elf.”

“Could you stop loving the Lady Celebrían if her father ordered you to?” I challenged. “Could you do what you are asking me to do?”

I did not really expect Elrond to answer that question. Why should he humor one so young as me? But finally, he did answer. “Nay, Legolas, I could not,” he sighed, dejectedly. “I could not stop loving my wife just because someone said it was unwise. I would be left half-alive without her.”

“Then you know how I feel. I accepted your role for me in Arwen’s life. I condemned myself to living half a life because it was that or nothing. I will never speak of my love to her, and I will not stand in the way when she meets the one you say she is destined to love, but I cannot stop loving her to suit you. As long as she wants me as her lover, I will be her lover. When she no longer desires me, I will be her friend, though it will break my heart to let her go. I will not leave her while she still has a use for me.” I knew my anger was showing, but I resented Elrond, resented him putting me in this situation, even if he was doing so to fight the Shadow.

“You are long past your majority, ernil-neth. I cannot force you to abide by my wishes. I will, however, inform your father of your situation.” I started to protest, but the look he gave me made me hold my silence. “He has a right to know, as your father and as your King. If you are ever too seriously injured to travel, he needs to know to send for Arwen, lest you fade despite yourself.”

“Are you sending me home, then?”

“Not quite yet. I want to make sure you have fully recovered the use of your leg before you go. You can train with the Imladris guards for a few weeks before you return home.” I took his words as a dismissal and rose to leave. My hand was reaching for the doorknob when I heard him say, “I am not heartless, Legolas. I see the joy you bring to each other. I hope that will be enough for you in the end.”

I hoped so as well. This whole experience had shown me a vulnerability I had not known I could possess, a vulnerability that stemmed from my role as Arwen’s lover. When I no longer had even that role in her life, how much more vulnerable would I become?


	3. Chapters 11-15

Elvish translations

Hiril nín – my lady 

Meldis – friend (female)

Lothen – my flower 

Irmen – my desire

Melethril nín – my lover (female) 

Mir nín – my treasure

Mellon – friend 

Hannon chen – thank you

Aníron chen– I desire you 

Mabo nin – take me

Peredhel – half Elf

Chapter 11

Arwen was waiting, as I knew she would be, in the Houses of Healing. I expected her to mention our plans for a trip to the waterfall. “The healers have released you,” she informed me instead with a smile. “I thought to escort you to your new quarters.”

“Do I need an escort?” I asked teasingly as I gathered the few things I had brought with me from Mirkwood.

“You might,” she returned, with a seductive smile. I felt that smile all the way to my loins. I did not know what she had in mind, but I was not about to refuse.

“Lead the way, then, hiril nín,” I replied with a bow.

“Hiril nín? Is that the best you can do?” she teased.

“How would you prefer I address you?” I leaned close to her to whisper my suggestions in her ear. “Meldis? Lothen? Irmen? Melethril nín? Mir nín? Do any of those suit?”

I watched the flush rise in her cheeks as I spoke, each endearment huskier than the last, my breath tickling the sensitive tip of her ear with every word. “Any and all of them suit, though I like mir nín the best.”

“Lead on, mir nín.”

She led me out of the healer’s wing but did not guide me toward the rooms where I had stayed before. “Where are we going?” I asked.

“You will see. I told you that you might need an escort.” That smile was back on her face again, the one that said she knew her own power, as she had not when we were lovers before. I wondered briefly about what experiences might have given her that confidence, but I did not ask. I had not that right. I could only accept and be grateful that she was willing to be my lover still. She led me finally to a room I had not visited before, opening the door and leading me inside.

It took just one glance for me to realize that these were her rooms. Not the rooms I had visited the night of her Cuivië, but her rooms nonetheless. “Arwen?” 

“I see no reason for one of us to have to sneak through the halls at night.”

“I would have thought discretion might be a reason.”

“Who is here to care? My father? My brothers? The household? They will not carry gossip to others. I thought you would be pleased.”

“I am pleased that you want to be with me, that you want to share your rooms with me. I just do not want to put you in a situation that could be uncomfortable later.”

“Legolas, you are the one Elf with whom I can explore the pleasures of our bodies without worrying what the gossipers may say. With any other, they would speculate that I was looking for a mate, or that I have found him. I am only 200 years old. I have reached my majority, but I am still so young. I am not ready to settle down. I am not ready to choose a mate and begin a family. I want all that someday, but not now. Right now, I want to experience everything Arda has to offer. It is hard being a female sometimes. My brothers come and go as they please, wandering to Gondor, to Arnor, to Erebor, and everywhere in between while I am expected to stay home. I fight as well as they, though I have not their passion for it. Why must they coddle me so?”

I knew the answer from Elrond’s vision, but I could not speak of it to Arwen. I understood her frustration. My father did not have a ring of power to protect our realm as Elrond did. He needed every warrior to defend our home. I had traveled more than Arwen had, but always at my father’s behest. I, too, longed to wander Arda, exploring its beauty. I, too, was denied.

“I do not claim to know their minds, but I do know you are precious to them. You know your mother struggled to give you life. She and your father will have no other children. You are their baby, and they want to keep you safe.”

“I know that,” she said, “but they are smothering me.” She gestured to the room. “Grant me this, mellon. Bring this much adventure into my life, at least.”

I could no more deny that request than I could deny my own heart. I pulled Arwen into my arms. “Irmen. I will stay.” She returned my embrace, pressing the length of her body against mine.

“I have missed you,” she told me. This was not the first time she had said those words, but they affected me every time. To know that she had thought of me, had noticed my absence, had desired my return was a balm to my soul, which had suffered during our separation. Before I could reply, she grabbed my head and pulled my lips down to hers, devouring my mouth. I had never felt anything so erotic in my life. I had absolutely no control over that kiss. All I could do was stand there under the onslaught and feel. Feel the power of her desire.

“Aníron chen,” Arwen gasped when she broke from our kiss.

“Mabo nin,” I replied, surrendering to her completely. She could not be mine, not the way I wanted, but I would be hers in any and every way she wanted.

For a second, just a second, she looked shocked. Then a mischievous grin split her face before her mouth latched back onto mine. What had I let myself in for?

We had gotten no more than two steps inside the door earlier. Arwen pushed me the rest of the way toward the bed, our legs tangling together as we moved. She gave me one final push, and I fell back onto the bed. She followed me down, hands flying over the fastenings on my tunic. Then, they were on my bare skin, burning me with their intensity. This was definitely a side of my beloved I had never seen before. I reached up to loosen the laces on her dress, but she grabbed my hands, pressing them above me, caught in one of hers. I could have broken the grip if I had wanted to, but this new, aggressive lover had an appeal all her own. I was perfectly willing to go along. When her lips left mine to nibble their way down my neck, she had to let my hands go. I reached over my head and caught hold of the headboard. She glanced up as she felt me shift.

“Good,” she said, seeing my hands. “Stay like that.” I would have been surprised if she had given me time, but her lips and teeth settled over an already aching nipple, sucking so hard I cried out. She released me, only to torment my other nipple. I was arching underneath her, my body begging for her touch. I had never felt anything like what she was doing to me. When she moved lower, loosening the laces on my leggings, I thought I would come undone right then. With a supreme effort of will, I forced myself to stillness, let her caress and taste as she desired. Fortunately, she wanted more as much and as quickly as I did. She rose from the bed to shed her dress, returning to the bed blissfully naked. My eyes raked over her body, noticing the changes fifty years had wrought, but my hands remained on the headboard, just as she had asked.

She straddled me, as she had that night, fifty years ago, but this time, there was no hesitation, no question of how to do what she wanted. She impaled herself on my erection, riding me wildly. I bucked beneath her, driving into her with all the desperation born of our separation. My eyes fixed on her face, on her beauty, enhanced as it was by wanton desire. In the time she had cared for me, helping me heal, I had fallen in love with her all over again. In her bedroom, I fell back into lust as well. There had never been nor ever would be a more perfect Elf, peredhel or not. We climaxed almost immediately, our self-control burned away in the flames of our passion.

“Mir nín,” I moaned as my body shivered in release. She truly was my treasure. I had known it already, but she had reminded it of me with this encounter.

To this day, I do not know what came over us that afternoon. We loved many, many times in the millennia of our association, but only that day was it quite so primal. For my part, my conversation with Elrond had reminded me how little claim I truly had on Arwen and how much I had to lose. Perhaps that accounted for my actions. I never asked her to explain hers, just as I never asked her what was truly in her heart in my regard. I have survived many things in my long life, but I could not have survived hearing her tell me how fond of me she was when I desired so much more.

Elvish translations

Lavon – I yield

Maer - good

Maethor nín – my warrior

Annorn - harder

Tolo - come

Chapter 12

We did not make it to the waterfall that afternoon. Indeed, we did not even leave her rooms until it was time for dinner. Instead, we lay wrapped around each other in her bed, savoring the closeness after such a long separation.

“What did my father want to talk to you about?” Arwen asked me.

“My eventual return to Mirkwood,” I told her. That was at least partially true.

“Surely he is not sending you back immediately. The healers have only released you today,” she exclaimed.

“Nay,” I reassured her. “Not immediately. He wants me to train with the guards here for a while, to build back up my strength. I will stay at least until your birthday.” That was five weeks away still, but nothing was going to make me miss it this year since I was already in Imladris.

“Good. I have not waited fifty years to see you, only to have you disappear before we have a chance to get reacquainted.” Her hand ran possessively down my side as she spoke. I decided getting reacquainted was much safer than the current line of conversation so I took the caress as an invitation.

We made love again, but tenderly, before bathing and dressing for dinner. Thus it was that I found myself once more at Elrond’s table with lover’s braids in my hair. He did not mention them, and the arch look he gave his sons kept Elladan and Elrohir from mentioning them either.

After dinner, Lindir agreed to play for us. I was the only guest at the table, so the atmosphere was light, familial, and Lindir soon convinced Arwen and the twins to join him. I saw yet another new facet of Arwen’s personality that night. She had studied music in the time we had been apart and played the flute now. We spent the evening in song, a luxury I had almost forgotten in Mirkwood.

Arwen and I retired together for the night, a dream I had never expected to have fulfilled. I wanted to love her again, but my body had other ideas. I fell deep into a healing sleep while waiting for her to join me.

When I rose and bathed the next morning, I noticed that even the scar had begun to fade from my thigh. It had been still raised when we went to sleep, but that morning, it was barely visible against my pale skin. It seemed that Elrond was right. Loving Arwen healed me.

I reported to Glorfindel after breakfast. Trying to spar with him after my bout of passion with Arwen the previous day would have been ludicrous.

“Lord Elrond mentioned you would be joining us,” Glorfindel told me when I arrived. “I rather expected you yesterday.”

My blush probably explained everything, for he had seen the lover’s braids at dinner the night before as well, but I stammered an excuse nonetheless. “He did not tell me when to come, my Lord, only that I should.”

Glorfindel accepted my explanation, though his smirk implied that he had seen through it. “There are no lords or princes here, Legolas. Only soldiers. If you cannot call me by my name, call me Captain, though I would think that our ranks would be equal. You have led King Thranduil’s troops, have you not?”

“I have, my… Glorfindel, but that does not compare to…”

“Do not say it. It is not about what deeds we have done in the past. It is about what we are doing now. So, we are to strengthen your leg again, I understand.”

“Aye.” I hesitated to ask since Glorfindel had made it clear that he did not want to talk about his past. “I am rarely surpassed at archery, Glorfindel,” I said finally, “but even Arwen can best me with a sword.”

Glorfindel laughed. “Do not say it that way. Arwen can best most of the soldiers here. Only her father and I can still take her. Others do occasionally, but never consistently.”

“Would you help me, Glorfindel? Arrows are fine when you have some distance, but that distance cannot always be maintained.”

“As you like, Legolas. It will give your leg a workout as well, but you are not to overdo.” Having examined my leg that morning, I doubted it would slow me down, but I agreed to Glorfindel’s terms. He did not need to know more about my situation than he already knew. He passed me a practice sword, long and wickedly curved, though the edge was dull to prevent injury. Then, he led me through a series of forms, warming up muscles that had not worked hard in months. From time to time, he would stop me, pointing out a weakness in my form before having me begin again. In many ways, it was like my first lessons in swordplay, except that this time my teacher was Glorfindel of Gondolin, one of the greatest warriors ever to live, even if he did not want me reminding him of it. We had been training for half an hour when Arwen joined us. She fell in silently, just on the edge of my vision, flowing through the exercises with the grace of long familiarity. I paused to watch her, captivated by the deadly beauty of her movements. Glorfindel called my name sharply, bringing my attention back to what I was supposed to be doing. When he was more satisfied with my form, he had me square off with Arwen. I was not sure how I felt about sparring with her again, especially out of practice as I was, but she smiled, as if sensing my hesitation. “It is just practice, maethor nín. Spar with me.”

So we sparred. Each time one of us presented the other with an opening, Glorfindel would stop us, pointing it out, correcting it, having us practice a particular move again and again until he was satisfied. It became a competition, not between Arwen and me, but between us and Glorfindel. Could he catch a mistake before we corrected it? He missed not a one. If either of us ever had to face Glorfindel in battle, we would surely lose. The lessons he gave us that day, and every time we worked with him, ensured that we survived every foe we ever faced – Orc, Man, Troll, even Nazgûl, though it was Arwen’s invoking of Vilya’s power that truly stopped the Wraiths when she faced them.

I tired long before Arwen did. Glorfindel called a halt when he saw me falter. I tried to protest, but he was implacable, especially when Arwen seconded him. I gave in, though with ill grace, until Arwen whispered a suggestion that we bathe at the waterfall. Suddenly I could not leave the training ground quickly enough.

We raced up the hill to the waterfall, as fast as my tired legs would carry me. Laughing, we helped each other shed our clothes. I wanted Arwen then, but I was covered in sweat from my workout with Glorfindel, so I dove into the pool at the base of the waterfall. Sex could come after we were clean.

I really had intended only to enter the water as quickly as possible when I dove into the pool, but the look on Arwen’s face when I surfaced suggested I had a far greater effect than I had intended. I lay back and floated lazily, watching Arwen on the rocks.

“Enjoying the view?” I asked.

“The view is quite spectacular,” Arwen admitted, leering at me from above.

“It is even better from down here,” I replied in the same tone, for Arien was shining straight down on her, giving her skin a golden glow. She looked good enough to eat. Just as soon as we were clean.

I paddled lazily over to the rocks, splashing water up onto them and her with my feet. “Tolo,” I prompted, “the water feels good.”

Laughing at me, and my flirting, she dove into the pool over my head, surfacing next to me. I turned immediately and ran my hands over her skin. “It does indeed feel good,” she all but purred. “In fact, I can never remember it feeling better.” 

The expression on her face dared me to make something of her comment. I debated for a moment and then decided that sparring with her verbally could be as much fun as sparring with her physically. “Neither can I,” I replied, my hands making it obvious that I was not speaking of the water.

She laughed again and splashed water in my face. I retaliated immediately and we descended into an all-out water war. The playfulness continued even when our enthusiasm for water games ended. We left the pool refreshed, lying down together on the grass. For a while, I just held her in my arms. I sensed movement in the trees, but whoever it was came no closer and I let it go. I did not want reality to intrude. I wanted to stay right there, Arwen in my arms, in this moment in time when we could be together. She did not sense my introspection, for which I was grateful. I could not have explained what I was feeling if she had asked. I pushed those dreary thoughts away, refusing to let them spoil our time together. Actively retrieving the playfulness from earlier, I ran light, questing fingers over Arwen’s sides. Much to my delight, she convulsed under my fingers, the light contact tickling her mercilessly. She tried to turn the tables on me, but I was not nearly as sensitive as she was. Her touches, aided by her squirming as she sought to avoid my tickling, served only to inflame my senses. She must have realized that trying to tickle me would not help her so she resorted to stronger measures. One hand reached down and stroked my burgeoning erection, the other tweaked one of my nipples, and her lips went to my ear. In one fell swoop, she had hit every erogenous zone on my body, and tickling was the last thing on my mind.

“Not fair,” I panted.

“And tickling me is fair?” she asked.

I did not reply, could not, in fact, for she redoubled her efforts. “Lavon,” I gasped. 

“Maer,” she said. She released me and leaned over to kiss me. I kissed her back, nibbling on her lower lip, caressing her instead of tickling her. Still, I kept the caresses light. I was not in the mood for a repeat of the previous day’s encounter, though it had been intense. I wanted something gentler, sweeter, there by the waterfall where she had first kissed me. She seemed in the same mood, for, once she had stopped my tickling, her touches were as light and soft as mine. 

When I finally rolled her beneath me and slipped inside her tight body, it felt like coming home. We sighed together, then laughed at the sound. She pulled my head to her neck. “You never did give me the mark you promised,” she whispered. “Give it to me now.”

So I did. I fastened teeth and lips to her neck and bit as I thrust into her. She arched beneath me and we moved as one toward our climax.

“Annorn,” she cried as she convulsed about me, sending me over the edge as I bit hard enough to draw blood.

We snuggled together again, afterwards. I showered gentle kisses on the bruise I had made. I started to apologize, but she was no more willing to accept my apologies than I had been to accept hers fifty years before. That observation sent us both into fits of laughter again.

It felt so good to laugh, to be completely free of worry. I did not think of any of the things that usually troubled me as we played in the water and made love. The darkness in Mirkwood was as a dream. I could ignore the painful future that faced me. I did not have to wrestle with the conflict in my soul between duty and love. I could focus entirely on my beloved for a few short hours. For a few short hours, we could be young and in love, even if only in my dreams.

Elvish translations

Mellon – friend

Cuivië – awakening

Peredhel – half-Elf

Chapter 13

We bathed again in the pool before returning for lunch. Elrond eyed our uniforms askance as we entered the dining hall, but we had obviously bathed so he said nothing. Lunch was not a formal meal, Elves coming to eat as their schedules allowed. We both ate heartily, having worked up an appetite on the training ground and by the waterfall. We had almost finished when the twins joined us, one on either side. Elladan engaged Arwen in conversation immediately, drawing her attention away from Elrohir and me. “We need to talk to you,” Elrohir told me in a low voice, “without Arwen.”

“After lunch,” I replied. He nodded, then exchanged looks with Erestor across the hall. Almost immediately, Erestor called Arwen’s name, requesting her help in the library. Arwen rolled her eyes at me as she rose to join Erestor. “I will find you later,” she promised as she left the table.

Elladan moved immediately into the seat Arwen had vacated. “Did you arrange that?” I asked suspiciously.

The twins nodded. “We did not want Arwen wondering why we needed to talk to you without her. Finish eating so we can go,” Elladan answered.

I had already finished so I followed them through the corridors to their rooms. “What did you want to talk about?” I asked when they had closed the door behind us.

“You and Arwen,” Elrohir answered.

“It is obvious you still love her,” Elladan interjected. “We saw you at the waterfall today.”

“You had no right to spy on us,” I sputtered.

Elrohir sighed. “We were not spying, Legolas. We were returning from a hunt and passed that way. As soon as we realized what was going on, we left. But, it made us determined to talk to you.”

“You are going to tell me to stay away from her, are you not?” I said dully. “That is what your father said as well. I will tell you the same thing I told him. I cannot stop loving her just because it is not wise.” I was suddenly very angry

“You are wrong, mellon,” Elladan said when I had finished my outburst. “We have no intention of telling you to stop loving her. We have never seen two Elves who belong together as much as you and Arwen do. We think Ada was wrong to ask you to participate in her Cuivië when he knew of your feelings. You have not seen Arwen these last fifty years. You do not know what she was like without you. We do.” I gaped at him. Nothing I had seen or heard since I had returned to Imladris had prepared me for that comment.

“We saw her,” Elrohir continued. “We watched her suffer without you, seeking companionship but not finding what she sought. And we have seen her since your return. She is a totally different Elf now than she was when we left her in Lórien. She smiles again, laughs again, like she did before.”

“Are you saying that she loves me?” I asked incredulously.

“We have never asked her, but you should,” Elladan insisted.

I shook my head in denial. “I cannot. It is forbidden. You know that. We would be hounded out of all Elvendom if we tried to bond after her Cuivië.”

“Vala take propriety! How many Elves have you asked? How many have said they would want you banished?” Elrohir challenged.

I had to admit that I had asked no one. The only Elves who knew, besides Elrond, all seemed intent on supporting me. “But what about your father’s vision?”

“Ada is so fixated on one thing that he sees nothing else. How do we know that his vision is the only way to stop the Shadow? How do we know it is even a true vision? Most of them are, but every once in a while, he makes a mistake or misinterprets. And even if he is right, we do not know when this event will occur or what will occur in the meantime. With the situation in Mirkwood like it is, you could be killed before this confrontation with the Shadow takes place. The love Ada foresees for Arwen could be a second love, after you have gone to the Halls of Mandos. Legolas, this is folly. You are killing yourself slowly this way. Arwen has not figured that out because she has not tried, but we saw what happened when you arrived and she was not here. You must speak to her.” I had never seen Elladan so adamant about anything before.

“I will think about it,” I promised, turning to leave.

“Tell her,” Elrohir repeated to my retreating back. “Let it be her choice.”

I said nothing, thinking only of finding a place where I could be alone with my thoughts. Arwen had said she would find me. If she found me in my current state, she would know something was wrong and would not stop until I had told her everything. Perhaps I would, but I needed to make that decision on my own, not because she pressured me into it. 

I found the solitude I was seeking in the rooms that had been mine when I had lived in Imladris at Arwen’s birth. They were closed up, for guests were not expected, but that was just what I wanted. I settled into a chair that overlooked the gardens and tried to sort out my thoughts, my feelings, to make a decision regarding my future. Elrond and the twins had made their differing opinions very clear. Elrond thought I should find a way to cut Arwen out of my heart if I could, to forget her and find someone else to love. I was almost 700 years old and had never met anyone who even came close to touching me the way Arwen did. Not that 700 was old to an Elf, but I had never felt anything for any other Elf that could compare to what I felt for Arwen, not just since I met her, but before as well. I was facing the very real possibility that I would never love anyone but Arwen. 

Unfortunately, loving her was not simple. The obstacles to our relationship were legion. First, I did not know how she felt about me, beyond seeing me as a safe way to experience more of what life had to offer. Certainly, we were friends, but did she love me? The twins seemed to think that she might. 

Even if she did, I was her Cuivië lover. We would be breaking Elvish law if we loved one another, and the penalty was banishment. Would Arwen be willing to risk being separated from her family, from her people? We would never be able to go to Valinor, and while I was not ready to leave just then, I had always assumed I would go there someday. If we bound to each other and were banished, it would mean staying in Middle Earth forever. 

Which led me to another problem. Arwen was a peredhel. If she could not take the ships to Valinor with Elrond, would she then die, a mortal? And if she did, what would happen to me? I would still be outcast, whether Arwen lived or died. Would I be able to survive the grief of losing, not my friend, but my bonded mate? 

Finally, there was Elrond’s vision. Though the twins did say that occasionally he had a false vision, I dared not count on that. Elrond said that Arwen’s heart was key to defeating the Shadow. If Arwen and I were bound, she would not be free to love when the time came, condemning Middle Earth to darkness and the reign of Sauron. And it would be my fault because I knew, at the moment of making my decision, what the end result would be. The twins were right about the situation at home, however much I resented them pointing it out. For all that I was immortal, I was not guaranteed that life. My experience that winter had shown me just how easily life could be snuffed out, even for an Elf. I could be denying myself happiness for the sake of a future that would not be mine because I would not live to see it. Yet there was no way to determine that without revealing to Elrond, or perhaps to Galadriel, that I was considering something so scandalous, for only they had the gift of foresight powerful enough to help me. If they could. If they would. And that was not guaranteed, given what I would be asking them. Even if they told me I would not live to see that day, that my death would keep my love for Arwen from interfering with the battle against the Shadow, would not Arwen’s banishment because of me have the same effect?

I know not, now, standing on the shores in Valinor, how many hours I tormented myself with those questions. Round and round, each question leading to another, which eventually led back to the first. A decision to speak would probably kill me if she said no and condemn us both to separation from all that we knew if she said yes. Silence would at least let me continue as I was, as we were, until she met the one she was destined to love. And so I decided not to speak that day. My reasons were many, but more than anything, I could not face her saying that she did not love me. I was too proud to take that risk, for if she denied me, everyone would know.

Elvish translations

Meldir – friend (male)

Mellyn nín – my friends

Melethron – lover (male)

Aníron – I want

Chapter 14

When I finally reached a decision and had myself under control again, I returned to Arwen’s room. I was still wearing my uniform from that morning, and while Elrond might have been tolerant at lunch, he would not be at dinner. I changed into more appropriate attire, wincing as muscles I had not used in months let me know that they did not appreciate the intensity of the workout I had given them that morning. I was massaging my leg absently, trying to ease a cramp, when Arwen returned.

“There you are, meldir. I have been looking for you. Where have you been?” Before I could think up a sensible reply – for how could I tell her the truth? – she noticed that I was rubbing my leg. “Did you overdo today? We do not want you to reinjure your leg!”

“It is just a cramp,” I assured her. “It will pass.”

She came to my side and kneaded the muscle expertly. The cramp subsided almost immediately. “I will give you a proper massage tonight, but for now, we should go to dinner.”

After dinner, Arwen again joined Lindir in providing music for our pleasure. Elrond excused himself, leaving me alone with the twins.

“Did you speak to her?” Elladan asked softly. Elrohir’s back was to me as he watched his sister and the minstrel, but I could tell he was listening.

“Nay, and I am not going to tell her.”

“What?!” the twins exploded in unison, though they managed to keep their voices down. “Why not?”

I explained my decision to them as best I could. They started to argue, but I cut them off. “This is my choice to make, and I have made it. Swear to me you will not interfere.” I caught the rebellious looks on their faces and knew that I had to press the issue. “This is between Arwen and me. Swear on your grandfather’s star that you will not interfere.” I did not often use the regal tone I had learned at my father’s knee, but it served me well now. “Swear,” I said one last time.

“By the light of Eärendil, I swear,” they both said finally. “Though nothing but heartbreak can come of this,” Elrohir added.

“Perhaps not, but it is still for me to decide, mellyn nín.”

The cramps returned with a vengeance as I waited for it to be late enough to leave, and not just in my leg. It felt like every muscle in my body was sore. I was limping by the time Arwen and I retired to her rooms for the night. She had to help me undress, I was so stiff. While I certainly did not mind her helping me remove my clothes, I was embarrassed to require her help. She just laughed. “Amme warned me about catering to the male ego,” she said.

I must have looked indignant for she laughed again. “I do not mind, melethron. I can think of worse fates than catering to you.”

If I had not been in so much pain from the muscle cramps, I would have shown her exactly how she could cater to me, but that was not an option given my state. I lay gracelessly down on the bed at Arwen’s urging. I watched silently as she shed her own clothes before climbing onto the bed beside me, a bottle of oil in her hand.

“I am not going to smell like lilacs, am I?” I asked. Lilac was still Arwen’s favorite scent.

“Nay. Roses,” she replied.

I lunged for the bottle before she could pour any on my skin. When I wrested it away from her and smelled it, I realized I had fallen for her trick. It was sandalwood oil. “Gullible,” she said, shaking her head as she snatched the oil back. “Do you want a massage or not?”

“Aníron,” I replied.

“Then be still.” She pushed me back onto my stomach and began working the oil into my skin with deep, strong strokes, loosening the tight muscles beneath. I groaned with pleasure as the tension left my shoulders and back, arms and neck. I could not stop a shiver when her hands glided down and began work on my buttocks.

“So you like that, do you?” she murmured.

“Aye.”

“I will remember that.” Just for a moment, her touch became more loving, less clinical. Then she continued down my legs, working out the cramps in the muscles there. “Turn over,” she instructed when she had reached and finished my feet. Though her touch had been that of a healer rather than of a lover, except for that one moment, even the healer’s touch had an effect on me. Her eyes lit up as she noticed my semi-erect shaft. She stroked it once. “We shall save that muscle for last,” she informed me with a wicked gleam in her eyes, leaning up to kiss me lightly. Though her touch remained neutral as she worked her way up my legs and across my abdomen and chest, the promise in her words caused a very unclinical reaction. By the time she was done with the massage, I was aching for a different kind of touch. 

When I could stand it no longer, I reached for the phial of oil she still held and poured some onto my own hands. I reached up and ran my slickened hands over her breasts, tweaking the dusky nipples in passing. “I think you said something about catering to my ego,” I murmured.

“Is that what you call it these days?” she asked, reaching down to stroke my erection. My hips came off the bed, following her touch. I did not bother to reply to her taunt. I had all I needed. Her hands on my body and her body under my hands. She was quickly as covered with oil as I was, and our bodies slid together most appealingly, to the great satisfaction of us both.

That day became the pattern for our days in Rivendell. We trained with Glorfindel in the mornings, sometimes with the sword or knives, sometimes with the bow. I spent the afternoon helping Arwen with whatever duties claimed her time, either with Erestor in the library or with the healers. She soothed my sore muscles in the evenings until they could again withstand the strain. We made love often, as if we knew that our time together was limited. 

I also spent what time I could planning for her birthday. I wanted to show her, since I could not tell her, how special she was to me, how much I loved her. Erestor provided me with the first suggestion. He reminded me of the cottage near the river that Elrond kept for Galadriel and Celeborn when they came to visit. They would not be visiting for Arwen’s birthday so the cottage would be vacant. I could arrange everything to my satisfaction there, with Arwen none the wiser until that night. He also promised to arrange flowers as he had done before. I wracked my brain for ideas beyond that. I had few opportunities to arrange romantic evenings since the only one I wanted to share them with was in Imladris while I was in Mirkwood. And my options for seeking advice were severely limited. Elladan and Elrohir had left on patrol the day after I made them swear not to interfere and I did not know when they were to return. I would not have felt comfortable asking Elrond, even if he had approved of my feelings for Arwen. Celebrían, whom I might have felt comfortable asking, was not returning from Lórien until the day before Arwen’s birthday. That left Glorfindel and Erestor, because I certainly was not going to involve anyone who did not already know of my feelings. It was difficult enough keeping my feelings hidden as it was. Getting them alone without Arwen, though, was proving almost as difficult as coming up with ideas on my own. And I still had to find her a present. I would give her a bouquet of the same flowers that had been in her room the night of her Cuivië as I always did, but I would be with her this year, and I wanted to give her something special.

Arwen needed a new bow, and it would remind her of me every time she used it, but I really wanted something less functional. I thought about giving her a clip for her hair, but though it was personal, it did not seem special enough for my beloved. My father used to give my mother jewelry, and though I could have afforded anything I wanted, having something made would lead to questions I did not want to answer. Not to mention that the only jewelry I had ever seen Arwen wear was the Evenstar. I wanted to give her something that would remind her of me, not something that sat in a box in her dresser that she got out when I came so she would not feel guilty. I had despaired of finding the right gift and was about to settle for just giving her the flowers when inspiration hit, in the form of one of the cooks who came storming out of kitchen, fuming about the kittens that were forever underfoot.

Kittens. That was it. Arwen loved animals. She was forever at the stables, spoiling the horses. She was especially fond of the foals. I would see if the cook would let me have one of the kittens for Arwen. 

“I could take one of them,” I told the cook, “if you really do want them out of your kitchen.”

The cook turned around in surprise. She had not seen me in the garden when she came out. 

“I did not mean to startle you,” I reassured her, “but I could not help overhearing. I can only take one, but that would mean one less to get underfoot.”

“They are just plain kittens, Prince Legolas,” she stuttered. “Not anything special.”

“May I be the judge of that?” I asked her. Plain kittens were just fine with me. Arwen would not care. She would see a fluffy animal all her own.

The cook consented and led me into the kitchen. There were three kittens tangled together under the table where the cook’s assistants were trying to chop vegetables. The kittens kept wrapping around each other and the assistants’ ankles, generally making things difficult. I scooped them up, removing them from harm’s way, and examined them, trying to decide which one I would give to Arwen. They were all adorable, with soft fur and raspy tongues. I settled finally on the calico one with the green eyes. She seemed the most loving of the three, staying willingly on my lap when I released them. The cook gladly gave me permission to take the kitten with me, even providing me with a bowl and some food. All I had to do was hide her until Arwen’s birthday so I did not ruin the surprise.

The gift taken care of, the rest of my plans seemed to fall into place more easily. I made the arrangements, and I waited. Two days before Arwen’s birthday, Elrond summoned me again to his study, this time to tell me that he was satisfied with my recovery and that I could return to Mirkwood at any time.

I informed him that I had no intention of leaving before Arwen’s birthday, unless he was planning on throwing me out. And if that was the case, he could explain my absence to Arwen before I left. He made no comment to that, and I returned to my plans.

Elvish translations

Cuivië – awakening

Ernil nín – my prince

Mir nín – my treasure

Vestach? – Do you promise?

Veston – I promise

Melethril – lover (female)

Hannon chen – thank you

Pen-valthennen – my golden one

Tolo – come

Melin chen – I love you

Ae syntrea chen – please

Lothen – my flower

Irmen – my desire

Mîr – jewel

Chen– you

Irmon chen– I desire you

Echado veleth enni– Make love to me

Melethron – lover (male)

Mabo nin – take me

Fëar – souls

Chapter 15

The day of Arwen’s birthday dawned clear and cool, a perfect omen for what I hoped would be a perfect day. Glorfindel and Erestor had both insisted we take the day off to enjoy ourselves. That meant we had the entire day to do whatever pleased us most. I had asked Arwen what she wanted to do that morning. She had suggested a ride, so we headed for the stables after breakfast. 

We spent the morning on horseback, flying free over the plains outside Rivendell. It was a freedom neither of us enjoyed often. Mirkwood was too dangerous for me to ride out alone or with a small group. Even on horseback, soldiers traveled in large groups for protection. Arwen, too, rarely rode alone, for Elrond was protective of her above all others, except perhaps for Celebrían. We relished the feel of the wind in our faces, the rhythm of the horses’ hooves on the ground, the sound of the hawks screaming overhead as they hunted. It was the kind of morning that made me rejoice just to be alive.

We returned just in time for lunch. Arwen spent the afternoon with her mother, preparing themselves for the feast. That suited me fine as it gave me the chance to finish my preparations as well. I finished arranging everything at the cottage just in time to get ready for the feast myself. I bathed away the sweat and smell of horse and dressed for the feast much as I had fifty years earlier. 

This time, though, it was Arwen, not Elladan, who put lover’s braids in my hair. And it was golden ribbons, not silver, that she wove into the plaits. Seeing the golden ribbons against her dark hair that night had much the same effect on me as the silver ones had had so many years before. Knowing that she wore those ribbons for me was as potent an aphrodisiac as any drug in Elrond’s pharmacy. 

Unlike the last time, I walked with Arwen to the great hall for the feast. I still did not sit with her, for I had no official place in her life, but at least I was spared the kind of conversation I had endured at her Cuivië. The Imladris soldiers I was seated with were well accustomed to Arwen and had a respect for her that rivaled my own. They knew as well, for we had made no effort to hide it, that we were lovers. The conversation revolved around Orc sightings and plans to improve Imladris’ defenses. Only at the end of the feast, when Elrond proposed a toast to his daughter, did one of the guards lean over and congratulate me. “You are a lucky Elf, Prince Legolas, to have won the regard of the Lady. She gives her time and her company to few outside her duties.”

I assured him that I knew exactly how lucky I was.

With the toast complete, we moved outside to start the party. Arwen danced dutifully with her father and brothers and then teased a dance out of Erestor. Glorfindel, not to be outdone, claimed her hand next. Then, obligations fulfilled, she came to my side.

“Ernil nín, you have not danced with me tonight,” she scolded.

“I have been remiss,” I replied, “though you have not lacked for partners.”

“I have not had the partner I desire.”

They were the same words we had spoken fifty years before. Her laughing eyes assured me that she knew it as well as I. I pulled her into my arms and did not release her again that night. We danced until we tired, then we stood together and watched those who took our place on the grassy lawn. We were in no hurry to leave, enjoying the magic of the night and of being together.

Finally, I noticed Arwen glancing skyward. “Soon,” I promised, catching Glorfindel’s eye. He slipped away to light the candles at the cottage.

“How soon?” she asked.

I smiled. “We had this same conversation the last time I was here for your birthday.”

“Then you should know what I want this time.”

“Patience, mir nín. It will be worth the wait.”

“Vestach?”

I laughed at her comment, but not my normal, light laughter. This was deep, husky laughter, promising delights untold. “Veston.”

She shivered. “Dance with me, then, until we can leave.”

We danced as I watched for Glorfindel’s return. I did not see him arrive any more than I had seen him leave. He was simply there again, cajoling Erestor into dancing with him, but I had noticed his absence so I knew all was ready. When the song ended, I leaned down to brush a kiss across the tip of Arwen’s ear. “It is time, melethril,” I whispered.

I did not have to lead her from the dancing this time, but I did have to steer her away from the house. “I have other plans for tonight,” I said, leading her toward the cottage. “Trust me.”

All was prepared as I had hoped. The candles were lit, a tray of fruit was waiting on the table, the wine was open and breathing. The flowers were arranged. Yes, it was perfect. Arwen seemed to think so as well.

“You did this for me?” She seemed amazed and flattered.

“It is your birthday. I wanted to do something special.”

“You succeeded. Hannon chen, pen-valthennen. It is beautiful.”

“So are you.”

If she heard me, she made no reply, going instead to examine the flowers. “You always remember my flowers.”

“It was a very special night. I think of it, and you, every year, even when I cannot be with you. Sending you flowers is one way of remembering.”

“It meant that much to you?” she asked, surprised.

“Aye. Did it not to you?”

“Legolas,” she said, “of course it meant much to me. It was my birthday, my Cuivië. It never occurred to me that you would feel the same.”

It would have been the perfect moment to speak, to tell her of my love, to confess everything that I felt, that I feared, that I desired. She was touched by my actions, by my words. With a little push, a little persuasion, I might have been able to sway her, to make her mine for eternity, not just for the night. I opened my mouth to speak, to reveal everything, but the words would not come. I searched Arwen’s eyes, trying to see something to encourage me. I saw desire, I saw pleasure in the cerulean depths, but I did not see love. Better not to risk it. If I spoke and she did not return my feelings, I would lose what little I already had. This whole situation left me little enough. I would not lose my pride as well. The moment stretched, then passed.

“Would you like some wine?” I offered instead, leading her to the table.

“I would love some.” She seemed content to follow my lead. We sat, and I offered her a glass of wine. I took a slice of peach from the tray and offered it to her. I expected her to take it from me. Instead, she ate it from my hand, the tip of her tongue flicking over my fingers to catch the juice. Then she reached for a slice and fed it to me. I sucked her fingers into my mouth, licking them thoroughly before releasing them. I watched her eyes darken with desire as she reached for another slice. 

“My turn,” I growled. We fed each other slices of fruit until they were all gone and we were completely engrossed in each other. I kissed the remaining juice from her lips, lapping at them so as not to miss a drop. She caught my tongue between her lips, teasing me with her teeth. I gave her what she wanted, invading her mouth, kissing her with all the fire in my soul. I could feel my control slipping as it always did when I was with her, but I had other plans before retiring to bed. “Tolo,” I said, pulling away and leading her into the bathroom. Candles flickered around the tub and a carpet of camellia petals covered the floor.

“So we are to bathe again. Did I not wash away the smell of horse well enough earlier?” she asked coquettishly.

“I had thought to indulge our senses, to savor every step. If you would rather…” I trailed off, not specifying an alternative, but leaving it up to her.

“Indulge me, melethron.”

I helped her undress, binding up her hair with the golden ribbons. “I like seeing golden ribbons in your hair. I like knowing you are mine.” It was a daring comment, perhaps, but while I had decided not to speak of my feelings, if Arwen spoke first, I would tell her how I felt. 

She reached up to touch the ribbons in my hair. “As you are mine.” Then her hands went to the fastenings on my robes, removing my garments as well. We descended into the tub, filled with warm, fragrant water. At Erestor’s suggestion, I had scented the water with jasmine. Though Arwen generally preferred lilac, I wanted a different, special scent for tonight. The sensuality of the jasmine appealed to me. I hoped it would appeal to her as well.

We had shared a tub many times, but I never grew tired of it, of lying together in the warm water, of the loving touches that passed between us as we bathed. The bath was just the excuse, for we had both bathed before the feast. We quickly abandoned even the pretense of grooming, reveling, instead, in kisses and caresses that grew more heated as time passed. 

When Arwen reached down to encircle my straining shaft, I slid my hand between her thighs, cupping her as well. I slid one finger inside her as her hand shifted on my sensitive flesh. As she continued to caress me, I inserted a second finger and began to thrust into her more earnestly. She collapsed against me just as I spent in the water. I held her until the spasms passed and our breathing returned to normal.

“That was wonderful,” Arwen murmured.

“It was just the first course,” I promised.

“How many courses do you have planned?” she asked.

“As many as you can stand.”

She shivered in anticipation. “Then let us move on to the second.”

I drew her out of the tub and toward the bedroom, stopping only to collect our wine glasses as we went. 

We entered the bedroom, but I led her to the fireplace rather than to the bed. We would get there eventually, but I wanted to draw out every moment of the evening. I knew I could not tarry much longer in Imladris. The loving we did would have to hold me for a long time. Maybe forever.

“We have done this before,” Arwen commented with a smile as she sank into the nest of blankets and pillows by the fire.”

“We have indeed, though we have switched the order.”

“Are we reliving that night, then?”  
  


“Not reliving it. Celebrating it, perhaps. It is the anniversary of our first night as lovers. But tonight is also unique.”

“Perhaps we will celebrate this night’s anniversary in another fifty years.”

If the Valar are willing, I thought, we will. “I hope so,” I told her earnestly, leaning in to kiss her. Her eyes fluttered closed as we kissed. I pulled back a little, just to look at her, to etch the memory of her as she was in that moment into my memory forever. The ribbons still held her hair tightly at the base of her neck. Her eyes were closed in passion, cheeks and ears flushed with it, lips parted and swollen, with a sheen of moisture from our kisses. She was all that was lovely and desirable in the world, and I so wanted to claim her for mine. Melin chen. Two little words. If I could say those two little words, my life would be perfect. If only she would say them back. 

My eyes roved down her body, as she lay there, taking in her full breasts, the curve of her stomach, the thatch of curls that hid her sensitive flesh, and the long, long legs that wrapped around me so tightly in the throes of passion. I wanted to fan the flames of that passion again. As slowly as possible. I plucked a tulip from a nearby vase, running the petals over her silky skin. I traced it over her brow, her lips, her long, slender neck. Swirled it around her breasts, brushing it tantalizingly over her taut nipples. She was beautiful and I wanted to worship her. My actions would proclaim the words that were forbidden to me. Melin chen.

I trailed the petals lower, across her flat stomach, between her legs.

“Ae syntrea chen,” she begged when the petals tickled her sensitive flesh.

“Relax and enjoy, lothen. It is your birthday. Let me pleasure you.” I took pity on her, lifting the flower to my lips. The petals were damp with her essence. I inhaled the combined fragrances, flower and lover.

I looked back at her face. She had closed her eyes against my teasing. Just looking at her, I felt my mouth go dry. I reached for my wine and had the sudden urge to drink it, not from the glass but from her skin. I drizzled a tiny amount across her stomach, bending my head and lapping at her flesh to catch every drop. Her eyes flew open at the feel of the liquid against her skin. I met her eyes as I drank, waiting for a protest. It did not come. While I watched, her eyes darkened to indigo, a sure sign of desire. I poured more wine onto her skin and drank my fill. 

When the wine was no longer what I desired to drink, I slid down to partake of a headier flavor. She strained against my mouth as I kissed and licked and nibbled at her folds. 

“Legolas!” she pleaded.

“Patience, irmen,” I whispered. When my tongue slipped inside her, she came up off the blankets to meet me, her hips moving in rhythm with my tongue. I understood not a word that she babbled as I tortured her, but they were all sounds of pleasure so I continued. She came finally against my mouth, flooding me with her sweetness, calling my name as she did. 

She did not recover as quickly as she had in the bathroom, but we were in no rush. 

My thought had been to retire to the bed so I could make love to her again, but she had other ideas. When she stirred in my arms, it was to push me to the blankets and to take my erection into her mouth. We had loved this way many times, and she had become an expert at driving me to the brink of insanity with her agile tongue. As always, when I felt the tingling that signaled an orgasm, I reached for her to pull her head away.

“Nay. Tonight I want to taste you.”

“Arwen,” I pleaded.

“It is my birthday. Tolo,” she insisted. I gave in. I could deny her nothing. Her lips returned to my aching flesh, and I gave her what she wanted, covering her lips and mouth with my cream. “Ai, melethril!” I groaned as I bucked against her mouth.

She murmured her pleasure, coming up to kiss me, the taste of me still on her lips, and I wondered why I had denied us both this pleasure before.

I was not finished loving her for the evening, but it became obvious that I would need some time to recover so I adjusted my plans, wiping us both clean with a damp cloth and handing Arwen a light robe before dressing in one myself.

“Where are we going?” she asked, surprised by the clothes.

“I have a present for you.” I led her toward the kitchen where, in a basket on the floor, was the kitten I had picked for her. “You love animals. I thought you might like one of your own,” I said, pointing to the basket. My present had the desired effect. Arwen rushed over to the basket, cradling the squirming kitten in her arms. 

“She needs a name, still,” I told Arwen. “I wanted to let you choose.”

“Mîr. I will call her Mîr for her eyes shine like jewels.”

Arwen’s attention was completely caught with Mîr. As I watched her play with the tiny animal, inspiration struck. I slipped out of the kitchen, picking up the bag of leftover petals. I scattered them in a trail as I walked out to the terrace. A chaise sat there, looking out over the river, bathed in Ithil’s light. I shed my robe and readied the final surprise of the evening. Hopefully, Arwen would see the flowers and find me.

I reclined on the chaise, waiting for her to join me. She did, finally, her eyes lighting up when she saw me, naked. She came to my side, letting her robe fall to the ground beside mine. “What is this?” she asked, fingering the bow I had tied around my neck from the ribbons in my hair.

“One last present,” I told her.

“Chen?”

“Aye. Im irmon chen, melethril,” I whispered.

“Echado veleth enni, melethron,” was her fervent reply as she sank onto the chaise next to me. The moonlight glazed her skin in silver, another caress. I wanted to tease her senses, to make our loving last all night, to drive her out of her mind with desire. 

I took her hands in mine, lifting them to my lips and pressing a kiss to the backs of her fingers. When I released them, I reached up and caressed the line of her cheekbone, up to her ear. She tilted her head into my fingers, seeking the gentle caress.

She let me set the pace for a while, with gentle caresses designed to tease our senses, but not enflame them. Then, it seemed she had had enough. She lay back against the chaise and pulled me over her. “Mabo nin,” she murmured.

“Not yet,” I said, wanting to draw this out for her pleasure.

“Mabo nin,” she said again. “Ae syntrea chen.” I wanted to resist, to draw this out as long as possible, but that simple phrase, please, was my undoing, then as always. I gave her what she wanted, merging my body with hers, becoming one being for a short time. For those long minutes when we were joined, she was mine and I was hers, united in a passion that was more than just passion, though we never spoke the word that lay between us. I could almost imagine, in that moment, that our fëar met, that she could feel my love as clearly as she felt my touch. We never spoke of it, as we never spoke of many things, but in that moment, I believed that she loved me. Melin chen, I whispered in my mind, as I had done a thousand times, pouring all I had into our joining.


	4. Chapters 16-20

Elvish translations

Seron vell – beloved

Mir nín – my treasure

Melethron – lover (male)

Mellyn nín – my friends

Pen-neth – young one

Ernil-neth – young prince

Hiril nín – my lady

Chapter 16

We slept there on the terrace, under the stars. Just before dawn, I carried Arwen inside. I did not expect anyone to come to the cottage, but I was unwilling to share her naked beauty if anyone happened to wander by. She stirred in my arms when I laid her on the bed. “Legolas,” she murmured before falling back into reverie.

“I am here, seron vell,” I whispered, knowing she could not hear me. To speak of my love was forbidden, and yet, after what we had shared, I could not keep silent. So I whispered, in the darkness of the night, to her sleeping form, the words I dared not say aloud in the light of day. I was leaving that afternoon, and I did not know what the situation would be the next time I saw her. By then, she might have met the one she was destined to love. That moment was the only chance I knew I would have to whisper my feelings, even if she never heard me. I snuggled beside her in the bed, drawing her back against me, to savor her closeness for the time we had left. 

I did not sleep again, as we lay there in bed. My mind was too busy racing ahead with thoughts of what would come when I returned home. I was worried about my father’s reaction. I knew he loved me, but I did not know what he would think of my forbidden love. 

“You are far away from me.” Arwen’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Where were you?”

“I was thinking of home,” I told her honestly.

“You are leaving today.”

“Aye. I have tarried longer than I should have.”

“Why did you stay?”

“I told you before that I would not miss your birthday. I wanted to stay and be with you, but duty calls. I should return home.”

“When will I see you again?”

“That is in the hands of the Valar, mir nín.”

“I hope it will not be another fifty years,” she chided.

“As do I.”

“And will you be my lover still when next we meet?”

“Unless you have met someone else by then,” I assured her, though my heart broke at the thought.

“Or unless you have.” 

I did not tell her that I had no expectation of ever meeting anyone to replace her. I could not tell her that, not when I knew she would someday love another, regardless of what she felt for me that day. 

“When next we meet,” I said instead, “call me melethron if you still desire me. That way I will know.” She nodded her agreement. 

“And you will call me melethril.”

We rose finally and returned to the house to face the day. We had missed breakfast so Arwen went to get a tray while I bathed. I came out of the bathroom wearing only a towel to find Arwen sitting at the table.

“Melethron,” she said, holding out her hand.

Her words had an immediate impact. Breakfast was forgotten as we made love frantically, the reality of our impending separation spurring us on. Gone was the patience of the night before. In its place was speed and desperation, as if by loving hard enough and fast enough we could somehow hold the world at bay. 

We were successful for a short time, but reality would not be put on hold forever. It came time to dress and say my good-byes to the rest of Imladris. Arwen did not join me right away, knowing I wanted a few private moments with my friends.

I embraced Glorfindel and Erestor when I found them together in the library. “Thank you, mellyn nín,” I said fervently. “Last night was perfect. I could not have done it without you.”

“It was our pleasure, pen-neth,” Erestor replied with a smile. He had taken to calling me young one since I had returned and he had realized my state. I did not mind, for compared to him, I was young, and I sensed his affection every time he used the endearment. “We will keep an eye on her while you are gone.”

“The twins suggested that she, too, suffered from my absence.”

“It certainly appears that way now.” Glorfindel answered the question I had not dared to ask. “We will send for you before it becomes too severe again. You must watch yourself, though, Legolas. You will suffer much more than she, with no one to watch you, for you have admitted what you feel. Whatever Arwen feels for you, and I do not claim to know her heart, she has not admitted it to any, save perhaps to herself. Do not wait too long between visits if you do not want others to guess your state. The transformation will be too obvious if you do.”

It was good advice. I just did not know how I would follow it. I had responsibilities in Mirkwood that would not let me leave just because I wanted to see my lover.

I tried to find the twins, to say good-bye to them as well. They had been my best friends for a long time, and the rift between us bothered me. They did not consent to be found, however, and they knew Imladris better than I ever would. I would not find them if they did not want me to.

I was on my way to rejoin Arwen before lunch when I met Celebrían in the hall.

“So you are leaving us today, ernil-neth,” she observed.

“Yes, hiril nín,” I replied.

“Walk with me before lunch,” she requested. I offered her my arm, and we walked into the gardens. She was silent for a long time as we walked. Finally she spoke. “My daughter seems much happier than when she left Lórien. I believe I have you to thank for that.”

I did not know what to say. I could not very well admit my feelings to Arwen’s mother. Could I?

“Elrond does not keep secrets from me, Legolas. I know what has happened since you arrived, and I know why he has acted as he has. I cannot say I agree with him, for I see you suffering, but neither can I gainsay him. I spoke to my mother, though perhaps you would rather she did not know, but I could not bear to see either you or my daughter suffer. Unfortunately, my mother could not clarify Elrond’s vision. She saw much the same as he. I do not tell you this to hurt you, though I know my words must wound. I just want you to know that I would be on your side if I could, for I know that Arwen cares for you deeply.”

I opened my mouth to ask if Arwen returned my feelings, but Celebrían did not let me speak. “She has not confided in me, and she will not, for she has long kept her own counsel. I am glad of it, in a way. If I knew what she felt, I would feel obliged to help her, even if my actions were wrong. Do not be a stranger, Legolas. Neither of you can avoid all the suffering this has caused, but you should not suffer needlessly.”

“I was not sure I would be welcome again. Lord Elrond has every right to be angry with me.”

“You will always be welcome here, Legolas. Elrond is many things, but cruel he is not. As long as you do not speak of your love, he will not keep you from seeing Arwen. Enough of this depressing talk. It is time for lunch.”

I escorted her to the dining hall where Arwen reclaimed my arm. We ate in silence. I was afraid to speak for fear of pouring out my feelings. Why she was silent, I do not know. Perhaps she shared my fear, or perhaps my mood infected her as well.

I met my escort in the courtyard after lunch. Arwen clung to my side for as long as she could, even when it was obvious Elrond wanted a private word. He settled finally for giving me a sealed letter for my father. The look in his eyes told me exactly what that letter contained. There would be no way out of telling my father the truth. I could not even conveniently forget about the letter, not when the entire guard saw Elrond give it to me. I kissed Arwen one last time before mounting and spurring my horse out of the courtyard. I did not look back as I had done the last time. If I had, and she had been standing there, I would never have left. I would have turned back and thrown myself at her feet, begging her to let me stay or, if not, then to come with me. We had spoken no promises, made no vows, yet the feeling of our souls touching as we made love was so real, so strong to me, that I felt as if we had forged a bond in spite of ourselves. I left, as I knew I had to, but I could not bear knowing that she watched me leave.

Elvish translations

Ion nín – my son

Ada - father

Peredhel – half-Elf

Chapter 17

It took us many days to return to Mirkwood. We rode hard, pushing to reach home as quickly as possible. I would have delayed if I could have, for I was dreading the confrontation I would undoubtedly have with my father, but my escort had been away as long as I had, without the comfort I had gained from Arwen’s presence. They were eager to be home, and I could not deny them. 

I was tempted to break the seal and read Elrond’s letter to my father, if only to know what tone he had taken. I could guess the contents, but I did not know what else he had said. Had he simply stated the facts? Or had he attempted to convince my father to keep us apart? I did not think that Elrond could persuade my father that way. The two of them had not been on friendly terms the last few centuries, but I honestly did not know what my father might do if he was angry enough. Knowing what Elrond had written, and how, would help me counter my father’s temper if it came to that. Unfortunately, I could not figure out how to explain the broken seal so I spent the weeks of travel trying to imagine every scenario and ways to deal with each.

We arrived to find the situation much as it had been when we left. Orcs and spiders attacked. My father’s soldiers fought back. I knew it would be only a matter of days before I was back on the borders again, helping to defend my home. First, though, I had to face my father and whatever consequences there would be for my actions.

He was waiting for me when we arrived at the palace. My father was not usually very demonstrative, but he pulled me into his arms as soon as I dismounted, obviously glad to see me.

“Ion nín,” he murmured against my hair as he held me tight. Then he stepped back and looked at me critically. “You are looking better.”

“I am better, Ada. Lord Elrond and his healers took good care of me.” Arwen often worked with the healers, and she had taken very good care of me.

“You were gone a long time. I was worried,” he said.

“I sent you a message. Did you not receive it?” I asked, suddenly concerned that he had worried about me far longer than necessary.

“I received it, but it is not the same as seeing you well.”

“Lord Elrond did not want me to leave until he was sure that I had recovered my strength. I trained with the guards in Imladris until Lord Glorfindel deemed me fit again. I stayed a few extra days to celebrate the Lady Arwen’s birthday.” I thought I heard a snicker behind me, but if I did, my father did not, so I did not react to it. No need to add fuel to the fire unnecessarily. 

“You will want to bathe before dinner,” my father commented, taking in my travel-stained clothes.

“Aye,” I responded fervently, “but I should give you this before I go in. It is a letter from Lord Elrond.” I handed him the missive Elrond had given me and returned to my rooms to bathe and prepare for dinner. I had just finished my bath when a servant tapped on my door.

“Prince Legolas, the King wants to see you in his chambers as soon as possible,” the servant said, sounding nervous. Ai, Elbereth, I thought, that does not sound good. I finished dressing and went to my father’s rooms.

He bade me enter when I knocked at the door.

As I feared, Elrond’s letter was in his hand and a distraught look was on his face. “Do you know what that fool of a Peredhel had the gall to tell me?” he asked.

“Nay, Ada,” I replied. “He did not have me read it before he sealed it.” I could guess exactly what was in the letter, especially given my father’s reactions to it, but I was not going to make my situation worse by telling my father that.

My father sent me a reproachful look. “Do not play word games with me, Legolas. The Peredhel says you are in love with his daughter and that, without her at your side, you cannot heal from injuries normally. Is this true?”

I considered my answer carefully. Finally, I said, “It is true that I love Arwen.” 

“Fool!” he shouted. His words cut deep, but his tone even deeper. “Ada,” I pleaded.

“And the rest?” he asked, deaf to my pleas. “Has she turned you into such a weakling that you cannot even heal yourself?” His scorn was obvious in the tone of his voice. I had hoped that he would accept my situation, that he would see that I suffered already and comfort me. Instead, he seemed intent only on adding to my pain.

“I do not know, Ada.” Though I suspected Elrond was right about my situation, confirming it, given my father’s state of mind, would not have solved anything.

“What good are you to me as a captain if you cannot recover from any injury you receive?” my father exploded.

“Ada,” I begged, “it is not as bad as that. I trained with Glorfindel while in Imladris. I am unlikely to be wounded.”

“Unlikely is not good enough. I need captains I can send into dangerous situations without worrying about them. I was relying on you. You were supposed to take my place. Instead you have forfeited that place for an Elf, a half-Elf! you cannot even have. You are useless. Get out!”

“Be angry at me, Ada. Say anything you want to me. But leave Arwen’s name out of this. If there is fault, it is mine, not hers, and I will not let you insult her because I have disappointed you.”

I had never before dared to speak back to my father. Few ever did. 

“Leave!” he repeated. The heat was suddenly gone from his voice. In its place was an icy coldness I had never heard before, in any circumstances. That tone made me understand the seriousness of the situation. I could usually get around my father in a temper, but this was different. This was real.

I forced myself to walk out of his chambers at a normal pace, not to flee as I wanted to. I maintained the appearance of control until I reached my own rooms. Then I collapsed on the bed, fighting tears. My father and I did not always agree, especially where the Imladris Elves were concerned, but we had always found ways around those disagreements. 

This was different. I had never seen my father so angry, never heard such hateful words. What was so precious to me was anathema to him. I had spent two months marveling at how much joy Arwen brought to my life. My father had just taken it all away. He no longer wanted me in Mirkwood. That thought was enough to release the tears that threatened. He no longer wanted me.

I would have to leave, beg refuge in Imladris or in Lórien. Celebrían had said I would be welcome there, but I doubted she meant welcome on a permanent basis. That left Lórien. Haldir could vouch for my skills as an archer. Perhaps he could convince Lord Celeborn to let me join the wardens there. At least I would be able to see Arwen when she visited her grandparents. 

I forced myself off the bed. I looked around the room, trying to decide what to take with me. I would have to take everything that I truly wanted to keep because I was not sure it would still be here if I left it. My clothes could be replaced, indeed would have to be, with the colors of Lórien, so I could leave those. Celeborn’s library was rumored to be almost as extensive as Elrond’s, so I could probably leave my books and scrolls. All I really needed to take were the mementoes of childhood that were so precious now. My first bow. The clip my mother wore in her hair. The ring my father had given her when they bonded and that she had given me before she sailed for Valinor. The painting of my grandfather. I gathered these things, crying harder as they reminded me of all the good times I had shared with my family. I would take them with me to help me remember a time when I was loved. I had agonized over many possible futures in Imladris when I was trying to decide whether to tell Arwen of my feelings. I knew that the price of speaking would be banishment. I did not know it would also be the price of my silence.

Elvish translations

Ion nín – my son

Geheno nin – forgive me

Pen-neth – young one

Chapter 18

I gathered my pack, changed back into travel clothes, and headed for the stables. There was no reason to drag out my departure. My father had made his position clear, and I was in no mood to try to persuade him to change his mind. I waved the servants away when they came to help. I did not want any of them to suffer my father’s wrath for aiding me. I assured the head groom that I would send the horse back when I reached Lórien.

I had just mounted and was about to leave when my father came out of the hall. “Legolas,” he called, “what are you doing?”

“You made yourself very clear when we spoke earlier. I see no reason to delay. I will be in Lórien should you reconsider your decision to send me away.”

“Send you away?” He looked confused.

“You told me to leave.”

“I wanted you to leave my rooms before I said something I regretted. I did not mean for you to leave permanently. Come inside, ion nín. Let us discuss this.”

“I think we discussed it more than enough earlier.” I was not ready to let go of my anger and hurt at his cruel words.

“Legolas, ion nín. You, of all people, know my temper. Please, come inside and listen to me now that I have calmed down. If you still want to leave after that, I will not stop you.”

I did not really want to leave my home so I relented, dismounting and handing my horse back to the groom. I would listen, as my father requested, but he was going to have to make amends, or I would leave. 

I followed him back inside.

“Geheno nin, Legolas. I spoke in anger,” he said softly when we were once again in the privacy of his chambers.

“Why?” I asked.

I could see my father hesitate. “Tell me the truth. Tell me why I should accept your apologies when you called me a fool, a weakling, useless. If that is what you think of me, why should I stay?”

“I was scared, pen-neth. I almost lost you this winter, without even realizing it. Elrond’s letter shocked me. You had said nothing of your feelings for Arwen, nothing of what you must have suffered alone. I was angry that you would shut me out, you who used to tell me everything. And I was scared that if you returned to your duties, I would lose you, forever this time. I should have waited until I calmed down to call for you, but I wanted you to deny the situation, deny that I had been so blind as to miss your state. You have loved her for fifty years, and I never guessed. What does that say about me?”

“It says only that I have learned to hide my thoughts, Ada. I cannot have Arwen, except as an occasional lover. I know that and I accepted it, no matter how much I might wish otherwise. There was no reason to speak of it.”

“No reason to speak of love?” My father’s voice was thoughtful now. “Did I teach you no better than that? Love should be celebrated, especially here where we face so much darkness. Please, ion, tell me of her.”

This was the father I had hoped to come home to, the one who would comfort and love me, who would share my suffering even if he could not stop it. I poured out the whole story, telling him of meeting Arwen again, of falling in love with her. I told him of that first kiss by the waterfall. He laughed with me at the joy of that memory, held me tightly when I told him of my conversation with Elrond. I glossed over the details of the night of Arwen’s Cuivië. Those were private, but I told him of the happiness I found with her. I spoke of missing her when I returned to Mirkwood and how my condition had worsened when I reached Rivendell to find her absent. He was amazed when I described how she trained beside me with Glorfindel. 

“I think perhaps I misjudged your Lady when we spoke before,” my father said when I had finished my tale. “I apologize.”

“Accepted.”

“Are you sure you have made the right decision about her, pen-neth? Her brothers and Elrond’s advisors seem to think that she might return your love.”

“What choice do I have, Ada? She is forbidden to me. If I speak of my feelings and she accepts them, we will be banished. I cannot ask that of her. Then there is Elrond’s vision, which Galadriel shares.”

“I cannot speak for their visions, but I will tell you this. When you decide to claim your Lady, bring her here to Mirkwood. Lórien and Imladris may not welcome you, but Mirkwood will always be your home, and anyone you love will be welcome here.”

“You would violate Elvish law?”

“What good is being King if I cannot arrange things to suit myself?” I thought I heard bitterness in my father’s voice, but I did not pursue it. “The decision is yours, but I will support you, no matter what decision you make.”

“What about my duties? Will you allow me to return to them? I could not stand being confined here, unable to help defend our home.”

“You told me you trained with Glorfindel while you were in Imladris. Was he satisfied with your progress?”  
  


“He seemed to be. Certainly, he had to work harder to defeat me by the time I left.”

“I will leave that decision up to you. Just remember that losing you would likely kill me. Be even more careful than you used to be, if you return to your duties.”

“I will be careful, Ada, but it would feel wrong not to serve. Lord Elrond told me that if I was ever too wounded to travel, you should send for Arwen. Did he tell you that as well?”

“Nay, but then, Elrond and I have not been on friendly terms for a very long time. Still, if he made the offer to you, he will honor it. Let us hope it never comes to that.”

“Let us hope,” I repeated.

And just like that, harmony was restored between us. I had what I had wanted from my father for fifty years – a confidante and friend. He knew of my feelings and accepted them once the shock wore off.

We fell into a pattern that lasted for two millennia. My father would watch me, as Erestor and Glorfindel watched Arwen. When they saw one of us beginning to suffer from our separation, they would arrange a reason for me to visit wherever Arwen was at the time. We would spend a few weeks or months together, depending on how much time my father could spare me. I would return home, refreshed, and my father would ask about her, calling her his daughter-in-law, and wanting to know when I would bring her to visit. 

My answer was always the same. “Perhaps next time.” I never asked Arwen to accompany me to Mirkwood. I did not want her to see my home infested by the darkness. If we ever succeeded in driving back the Shadow from Dol Guldur, I would bring her then, if she wanted to come.

We were at an impasse, in many ways, Arwen and I. We never spoke of the future, never made plans for the next time we would be together. As we had agreed in Imladris, she would call me melethron when I saw her, and I would reply in kind. Each trip to see her was agony, wondering how she would greet me. Each trip home was, in some ways, worse, wondering if she would still be my lover when next we met. Only when we were together was I completely happy.

I was wondering how soon I could convince my father to send me to Arwen again when he came storming into my room. “Get your gear together. Take Fanya and ride for Imladris. Now!”

“What…?” I did not even get to finish the question. My father was pulling me out of his chair. 

“Make haste, ion nín. You must get to Imladris as soon as possible. Fanya has agreed to bear you thence.” Fanya was my father’s horse, child of one of the Mearas, almost as fleet of foot and as tireless as they. I had never known the horse to accept any other rider. “I do not know what has happened, but I know it must be serious indeed. I heard Elrond’s cry in my mind. We have not farspoken one another since the Last Alliance. He did not answer when I called back so I doubt he knows I heard him, but whatever it is, it is serious. Tell him I said all enmity aside. Whatever he needs, if I can help, I will. Now, go. If her father is so upset as to farspeak me without realizing, Arwen will need you.”

My father’s urgency was catching. I grabbed my weapons and a cloak. A servant met me in the hall with lembas and water, enough to get me to Imladris. Fanya was waiting outside the stable, eager to be off. I swung astride, ready to go.

“Do not stop until you must. Fanya can carry you.” He touched his hand to Fanya’s haunches, and he sprang away. “Go!”

Warning: Implied rape  
  
  
Elvish translations  
  
Meleth – my love  
Pen-neth – young one  
Minno – enter  
Melethril – lover (female)  
Mir nín – my treasure  
Im sí – I am here  
  
  
Chapter 19  
  
  


Fanya ran as if the Witchking himself was behind us. Never before or since have I experienced anything like it. He knew where we were going and he went, needing no direction from me. I hung on and let him run, spending my time trying to imagine what could possibly have caused Elrond to farspeak my father unintentionally. The outburst that caused it must have been incredibly powerful. My father was convinced, from whatever he heard, that something was wrong. I could imagine only a few things that might upset Elrond to such a degree. None of them were good. Elbereth, I prayed, let Arwen be safe.  
  


Fanya brought me to Imladris in half the usual time. The sight that greeted my arrival was as bad as my worst fears. Every Elf in the courtyard was armed, though they appeared to be arriving rather than leaving. I caught sight of Glorfindel across the mass of bodies. I knew him to be an Elf-lord of great power, but I had never seen that power unleashed. He glowed with it, radiating fury and light. Erestor appeared beside him at that moment. I could not hear what they said, but Glorfindel's face grew darker and the pulsing light surrounding him took on a new intensity. "Replenish your supplies,"  
he said to his soldier. "We ride again within the hour." The soldiers dispersed quickly, leaving me alone with the two Elf-lords.  
  


Only then did they notice me. "You have chosen a dark time to come, Legolas," Erestor observed.  
  


"My father sent me. He said something was wrong and that Arwen would need me. What is going on?" I asked them both.  
  


Erestor looked at Glorfindel. "Go, meleth. Bathe and rest before you ride out again. I will explain." Glorfindel strode inside as Erestor turned to me. "Come, pen-neth. We will talk inside."  
  


"I have never seen Imladris like this, Erestor. What has happened?"  
  


"Nothing good, I assure you," Erestor replied, ushering me into his study. "Lady Celebrían was returning from Lórien and was abducted by Orcs. Elrond swears she is still alive. Every soldier in Imladris and Lórien is hunting for her now."  
  


"If Lord Elrond will ask, my father will send soldiers as well."  
  


"You are kind to offer, but there is too much anger between them."  
  


"Nay, Erestor," I insisted. "My father gave me a message for Lord Elrond. He said to tell him, `All emnity aside. Whatever Elrond needs, if I can help, I will.' I do not know why my father and Elrond stopped being friends, Erestor, and I do not need to know, but I do know that my father was serious. He said Elrond farspoke him, something that has not happened since the Last Alliance. He sent me because he knew something was wrong, though he knew not what. He will help, if only Elrond will ask."  
  


"I will tell him, Legolas, but I cannot make him ask. In his current state of mind, he is aware of almost nothing. All his energy is bent on maintaining his link with his wife, with trying to support her and find her. Even when she sleeps, he does not, for fear of losing the tenuous contact that remains."  
  


"What of Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir? How are they?" I asked, concerned for my friends and my lover, hearing what state their father was in.  
  


"The twins were out hunting when the attack occurred. They have only just returned and will go with Glorfindel's patrol when they ride out. The twins can also sense their mother and hope to be able to track her that way. Arwen has taken to her rooms. You should go to her."  
  


"I will. Just answer me this. Can you farspeak my father if Elrond agrees? I have not the talent, though I can hear his voice if he calls me."  
  


"Let me speak to Elrond first. Time enough to worry about the rest later. Arwen needs you."  
  


Those three simple words drove me out of Erestor's study at a run. I paused only to knock at Arwen's door.  
  


"Minno," I heard her say softly.  
  


"Arwen?" I called as I entered her darkened rooms. The curtains were closed and she had no candles lit. "Melethril? Where are you?"  
  


I heard a sob from the direction of the fireplace. "Legolas?" she whispered. "Is that you?"  
  


"Aye, mir nín. Im sí." I went to her side and gathered her against me. I stroked her face, feeling the dampness left by her tears. "Im sí," I repeated.  
  


"How…?" she asked, hiccoughing through her tears.  
  


"My father sent me. He knew you needed me. Just hold on to me, mir nín. Hold on tight." Elbereth! How I wished I could tell her what I felt, could let my love comfort her! She clung to me, letting her tears flow. I could barely follow what she was saying, but I understood enough to realize that, like her father and brothers, she had enough of a link with her mother to feel Celebrían's suffering, though not as keenly as Elrond did.  
  


"Why do they not find her?" she asked me angrily at one point.  
  


"Elladan and Elrohir are riding out with Glorfindel's patrol," I told her. "They will be able to find her. Have faith in your brothers, mir nín."  
  


"I want to go!" she exclaimed.  
  


I knew Elrond would never permit that, not with his wife already in danger. "I know," I told her. "I want to go as well." I hoped that taking this tack would convince her to stay in Imladris. "Your mother has always been kind to me. But we have to stay here and help your father. Erestor cannot do everything by himself, not with Glorfindel gone and your father upset. You must take care of your father while I help Erestor. That way, your mother will have a house to come back to when your brothers find her." I did not say if. I only barely dared to think it. I did not want Arwen imagining a world without her mother. I knew the pain of such a world and did not want it for my beloved even in her mind. "Can you do that, Arwen? Do you have the strength to stay behind and help in other ways?" I was being unfair, really, playing that card. I knew Arwen too well. She could stand anything but being called weak.

"Of course I have the strength," she snapped. "What needs to be done?"  
  


"First, we need to take care of you. Then we will take care of Imladris," I said, moving to the window and opening the curtains to let in a little daylight. "Do you want a bath, or do you just want to wash your face?" I asked.  
  


She considered my suggestions for a moment. Finally, she rose and answered. "I will just wash my face. I have neglected my duties too long. The bath can wait until tonight." She went to the bathroom to wash her face and comb her hair. I braided it for her quickly when she returned, practical braids, not the usual lover's braids we both  
wore when we were together. It was not the time for such displays.  


"Where do we start?" I asked, seeing the return of my usual, competent lover.  
  


"We need to check with the healers first," she decided, "to make sure they have whatever they need for when…" She trailed off.

"Healers first, then what?" I prompted, to take her mind away from her dark thoughts and back to practical matters.   
  


"Then Erestor," she said. "He will know what else needs to be done."  
  


I followed Arwen to the healers, to Erestor, and to her father. For three days, I haunted her steps, comforting her when she cried. Supporting her when the pain through the link increased. Holding her at night when she tried to sleep, hoping that my presence would calm her. On the third day after my arrival in Imladris, she suddenly collapsed in my arms.  
  


"Arwen? What is it, mir nín?"  
  


"They have found her. She is free," Arwen whispered before losing  
consciousness.

Elvish translations

Daro – stop

Edbado – get out (lit. go out)

Mellon – friend

Seron vell – beloved

Mir nín – my treasure

Chapter 20

It took another two days for the patrol to return, Celebrían cradled gently in her son’s arms. 

Supported by Erestor, Elrond was waiting for her in the courtyard when they rode in. I stood in the shadows of the entrance, my arm around Arwen’s waist, supporting her. She wanted to see her mother, yet she did not want to see what had been done to her.

“Seron vell,” we heard Elrond whisper as Elladan handed his mother down from the horse. If Celebrían responded, we could not hear it from where we stood. Elrond lifted her unresponsive form into his arms and carried her to the Houses of Healing. Arwen made to follow, but I stopped her. I could almost feel the waves of despair rolling off Elrond and his wife. Arwen was already upset. She was in no state to deal with that much emotion. Besides, Elrond and Celebrían would surely prefer to face whatever came next in private.

“Give them some time alone, mir nín. Let your father take care of her now. He needs it as much as she does. Go to your brothers instead.”

“Come with me,” she requested.

I hesitated. I had never really mended matters with the twins after our argument about my relationship with Arwen. I did not know how they would feel about my intrusion in their family affairs once again.

“I know you argued with them, though I do not know why. You told me Thranduil was willing to set aside his disagreement with my father. Surely you can do the same.”

“I never wanted there to be a rift between us. I will come with you, but if it makes them uncomfortable, you must let me leave.”

Arwen ran to her brothers’ side, then, to be enfolded in their tight embrace. I stood a little to the side, listening as they talked. The twins were obviously still upset, and I could practically hear Arwen decide to be strong for them. It would take a toll on her, I knew, but I would comfort her later as best I could.

“It was bad, Arwen,” I heard Elrohir murmur after a few minutes. I had not seen what they had seen, but I could hear the horror in his tone. I had known from what little Arwen could feel through her link with her mother that the situation was grave. Elrohir’s next words confirmed it. “They tortured her.” I could see him fighting back tears as he spoke.

“Are they dead?” Arwen asked, vindictiveness in her eyes and her voice.

“Aye,” Elladan replied fiercely. “Glorfindel dispatched the ones that escaped us. Those Orcs will never harm another being.”

“Good,” Arwen said. Whether it was Arwen’s tone or simply that the whole situation was too much for him, Elrohir finally lost the battle against his tears. Arwen gathered him in her arms, holding him tightly. Elladan encircled both of them in his arms, completing the circle. They stayed like that until Elrohir had himself under control again. Then Arwen turned her mind to practical matters. 

“Tolo. You need to eat and bathe.” She led them into the dining hall. I followed a step behind, still not wanting to intrude. “Join us, melethron,” Arwen said, gesturing for me to come to her side. 

I hesitated still, looking at the twins. I had already been uncomfortable approaching the twins given the situation. Elrohir’s tears had made it even worse. Elrohir broke the awkward silence. “I am glad you are here, mellon. Glad Arwen was not alone.”

And with those simple words, our friendship was as it had been before. The twins never did completely accept my decision not to speak of my feelings, but they spoke of it no more, having accepted, at least, that it was my decision to make.

The brothers were mostly silent as they ate, unwilling to speak of what they had seen and unable to speak of anything else. Arwen seemed to sense their exhaustion and simply sat next to them, offering what comfort she could with her presence. After they had eaten, Arwen sent the twins to their rooms to bathe and to find what rest they could. I doubted they would rest well that day, or for many days to come. The haunted looks on their faces as they let Arwen shoo them out of the dining hall like a mother hen spoke volumes about how much at a loss they felt. They knew how to track, how to fight, how to rescue. They did not know how to hold vigil, having never been called to do so before. They would need as much care and support over the next few days as Arwen would. I hoped they each had found someone, over the years, to love them. They would need their lovers’ support.

“I want to see my mother,” Arwen announced, her voice implacable, when the twins were gone from sight. 

I had no intention of opposing her, not when she had that look in her eye. I followed her to the Houses of Healing, not knowing what awaited us there. We had just entered the healer’s hall when we heard a piercing scream. “Amme!” Arwen cried. I caught her about the waist before she could barge into the room.

“Daro! Your father is in there. If she is hurting, it is because they have no other choice. She would not want you to see her like this. Let them finish their work,” I insisted. She struggled against me, still trying to go to her mother. I tightened my hold, not wanting her to see whatever was going on in the next room, but she had other ideas. She jabbed her elbow into my stomach, knocking the breath from my lungs. As I struggled to catch my breath, she twisted in my arms, breaking my hold. I lunged for her, but she was too fast. She burst through the door to the room where the healers worked and stopped cold as she saw her mother, letting out a cry of distress.

“Edbado!” Elrond bellowed when he saw his daughter. Arwen stumbled backwards, into my waiting arms. Seeing the shock on her face, I scooped her up into my arms and carried her back to her rooms.

She was shaking in my arms by the time we reached her rooms. I climbed into bed with her still in my arms, pulling her tight against me. I could feel the heat leaving her skin and knew that it was the shock affecting her. Her trembling continued for a long time. When I realized that her body was beginning to feel icy, I pulled off her dress and my tunic and leggings, hoping the contact of skin to skin would warm and soothe her. Her eyes were glassy, not the vacant look of sleep, but devoid of anything except perhaps panic. That look spurred me to act.

“Talk to me,” I said. I had to do something to bring her back to me.

“I saw… I saw…” She could not finish her sentence at first.

“They hurt her, Legolas. She was covered in c… cuts and welts, br… bruises and b… b… bite marks. I think they… they….” She could not force herself to say that she feared her mother had been raped, though that was on all of our minds. We knew only too well the fate of most Elves subjected to that kind of treatment. The vast majority faded or sailed to Valinor where the magic of the Valar could heal them. Only a very few, the very strongest, managed to survive very long in Arda, and even they were never completely restored to their former selves. Celebrían was strong, of that there was no doubt, and Elrond loved her very much, but I feared that it would not be enough. I knew the pain of living without a mother. It was not a pain I would have wished on anyone. I certainly did not wish it for my beloved.

“Whatever happened, Arwen, we will find a way to deal with it. You know I will not leave you alone,” I promised.

“But your father…”

“My father sent me here because he knew you would need me. He will not call me home until you no longer need me. Do not despair, mir nín. We do not know for certain what has happened.” 

I tried to be optimistic, tried to keep Arwen’s spirits up. But I kept seeing Celebrían’s inert form as Elladan gave her to Elrond. I had seen the kind of despair that I had felt from Celebrían once before, in Mirkwood, when we rescued an Elf from the hands of a band of Orcs. That Elf, however, had had nothing to bind him to Arda, no lover, no children. He had sailed to Valinor as soon as he was physically able. Celebrían had much to keep her here, if she had the strength to fight the fading that would follow. Elbereth, let it not come to that, I prayed.

“And if the worst happened?” she asked. “If Amme sails for Valinor?”

“Then you will be reunited one day, when you sail as well.” I did not know then what Arwen’s choice would be. I had never imagined that the one she would choose would be a Man or that her love for him would take her own immortality, separating her not just from her mother but from all Elvenkind. None of us, except perhaps Elrond, had imagined that fate for Arwen or for any Elf.


	5. Chapters 21-25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere apologies. We moved states over the summer and everything came to a grinding halt. I'll try to get back in the habit of posting this.

Elvish translations

Ada – father

Hannon chen – thank you

Ion – son

Echado veleth enni – make love to me

Nach maetolo – you’re welcome

Mae govannen – well met

Maer – good 

Melethron – lover (male)

Mellyn – friends

Mir nín – my treasure

Peredhil – half-Elves

Chapter 21

Elrond finally allowed Arwen and the twins to go to their mother. Arwen pleaded with me to accompany her, and for the first and only time, I denied her. “I am not family, Arwen. She will not want me to see her in the state she is in. Go to her. I will be here when you return.”

I waited, as promised, enfolding Arwen in my arms when she returned from visiting her mother. 

“How is she?” I asked, though I feared I knew the answer.

“Ada says her wounds will heal, but I felt such sadness when I looked at her, as if she could not bear to be here with us.”

“Her ordeal has only just ended,” I said. “It may take her time to recover.”

“And she may not recover at all!” Arwen shouted. “Why? Why did this have to happen? Do the Valar hate us so?” She began to cry.

I rocked Arwen as she sobbed in my arms. “This is not the work of the Valar, and you know it, mir nín. It is the work of the Shadow. I do not know why it happened. I only know that we must fight. The Shadow only wins if we give up hope.”

Looking back, I see that those were prophetic words indeed, but at the time, I hoped only that my words would comfort Arwen. They were cold comfort indeed. Her mother was fading, and there was nothing any of us could do about it. Within a few months, a year at the most, she would depart for Valinor, or she would die. “Arwen, listen to me,” I ordered. “You cannot change what has happened, and you cannot control what will happen. You must make the most of every day now. You must spend as much time as you can with your mother, storing up precious memories in case she leaves.” I did not suggest that she accompany her mother. Arwen still had a role to play in Arda if Elrond’s vision was correct. Nor did I want to lose my beloved.

Arwen took my advice, visiting her mother often, coming to me for comfort and strength when those visits took their toll on her. I knew that the twins visited their mother from time to time as well, for I could see the anger and grief growing within them. I lost count of the times I heard them arguing about what to do, Elladan railing against fate, Elrohir in tears at the thought of losing his mother. One day, it became too much for them to bear.

“Legolas!” Arwen cried, running into the room we still shared. “My brothers are leaving. They are going hunting, they say, but I know they are going after Orcs. They are in no frame of mind to be careful. Please, go with them. Take care of them for me. I am already losing my mother. I could not stand to lose them, too.”

“Calm down,” I told her. “When are they leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning, they said. Ada tried to dissuade them, but they would not listen. I am scared, Legolas. There is such recklessness in them. I fear they will be killed.

“I will go with them, but I alone will be little protection. We need more help. Where is Erestor?”

“Erestor? Why do you need to talk with him? He is no longer a warrior.”

“True, but he can farspeak my father, who is a warrior, who has warriors at his command, and who will not want anything untoward to happen to his only son.”

“My brothers…”

“Will never know. Trust me, Arwen. With a little help from my father and Erestor, we will keep your brothers safe until this rage for revenge leaves them. Now, where is Erestor?”

We found Erestor, predictably, in his study. We did not expect to find Glorfindel, but maybe he, too, would be able to help us. I outlined my plan to the two Elf-lords. Erestor was hesitant to involve my father without Elrond’s knowledge and consent, but Glorfindel persuaded him. 

“As long as Celebrían is afraid, Elrond will not send any soldiers from Imladris, but losing his sons would probably kill him. If Thranduil is willing to help, we can use that later as proof of his goodwill when we tell Elrond what we have done. It is a good plan, Erestor. Act on it.”

Erestor’s eyes took on the vacant look that indicated farspeaking. A few moments later, I heard my father’s voice in my head.

‘What trouble have you been stirring up in Imladris, ion, that Elrond’s chief advisor should farspeak me?’ my father asked teasingly.

‘None, Ada. We need your help. Celebrían was attacked by Orcs.’ I could feel his shock and regret through the bond. ‘The twins rescued her, but their rage is consuming them. They leave tomorrow to hunt. I am going with them, but I will not be enough to keep them safe should we come upon a large pack. The twins have no restraint left. They will attack no matter the odds. Elrond has tried to convince them to stay in Imladris, to no avail. I hoped you would send a small patrol to watch our backs, from afar, and to keep the packs we encounter small enough for the three of us. I know it is a complicated plan, but they have their pride.’

‘And you love their sister enough to want them to keep it. Very well, Legolas. Steer the twins toward Mirkwood. I will send a patrol to meet you. It will be up to you to coordinate with them without the Peredhil knowing.’

‘I will find a way. Hannon chen, Ada.’

‘Nach maetolo, ion nín. Be safe’

When I felt his mind leave mine, I turned to the others in the room. “He will help.”

“Maer,” Glorfindel said. “What do you need for the hunt?”

“I have my weapons, but I will need food, a bedroll, supplies. Fanya brought me here without stopping.”

“Will you need a mount?” Glorfindel asked, knowing Fanya’s nature.

“I must ask Fanya. He is my father’s horse and only brought me here because my father asked it. I do not know if he will carry me anywhere other than home.”

“We will make arrangements for whatever you need. Just bring the twins home safely,” Erestor said.

“Nothing will happen to them on this hunt while I live,” I promised. Arwen went with me to the stables to talk to Fanya. It turned out that my father had asked Fanya to bear me wherever I needed to go. He would take me hunting with the twins. All that remained was to tell the twins that I was going with them.

As expected, I found them in their mother’s garden. Though visiting their mother was painful for them, her garden gave them peace. “Mae govannen,” I said, as I joined them. “Arwen tells me you are riding out tomorrow.”

“Aye,” Elladan answered. “We cannot stay here and watch Amme fade.” Just those words were enough to tear a small sob from Elrohir. “Orcs will pay for what they did to her.”

I knew it was pointless, but I made one last effort to convince them to stay. “You do understand that even if you killed every Orc in Arda, it would still not save her.”

The twin glares directed my way told me that my interference was unwelcome. 

“I will not try to stop you,” I assured them, “but I will come with you. Let me watch your backs, mellyn, for you are in no state to watch each other.”

They agreed, though reluctantly. “We ride early and long,” Elladan told me.

“I will be ready.”

I left them, then, as I could tell that they wanted to talk. I returned to Arwen’s rooms. I needed to talk to her.

“Will they let you go with them?” she asked as soon as I came in.

“Aye. They agreed. We ride at first light.”

She moved into my arms, hugging me tight. “Hannon chen, melethron,” she whispered against my chest. 

“Nach maetolo,” I replied, kissing her temple. She turned into my lips, capturing my mouth with hers. I had held her every night since arriving in Imladris, comforting and consoling, but I had not pressed her to make love out of respect for her grief. This was the first passionate kiss we had shared. I started to pull away, not wanting to press Arwen under the circumstances, but she tightened her grip. “Echado veleth enni,” she pleaded. “Make me feel alive again.”

Elvish translations

Melin chen – I love you

Ernil nín – my prince

Hannon le – thank you (formal)

Meldir – friend (male)

Peredhil – half-Elves

Chapter 22

I left Arwen’s arms before dawn, bathing and dressing in the silent darkness. She rose to braid my hair – warrior’s braids. She called for breakfast to be brought to her rooms before helping me gather my gear. We did not speak, even of mundane things. Those words were not needed between us, and the ones I still longed to say had to stay unspoken.

Though the sky had barely begun to lighten, Elladan and Elrohir were already in the courtyard, ready to be off. Arwen embraced them before they mounted. Then she turned to me, embracing me as well. “Come back to me safely,” she whispered.

“I will keep them safe, mir nín. If you need to get a message to me, have Erestor speak to my father. He can find me wherever I am.” She bestowed one last kiss on my lips, one last caress on my hair before stepping back. I swung to Fanya’s back and followed the twins out of the courtyard. Melin chen, my heart whispered to her as it always did at our parting. Silence, as always, was the reply.

We were well armed for our journey, the twins and I, quivers bristling with arrows, knives and swords strapped to belts and braces. We listened to the whisper of the trees as we passed the borders of Imladris and made our way into the wild. The trees hated Orcs almost as much as my companions did. They led us unerringly to the vile creatures within their domain.

We found the first pack, twenty or so, as they were setting up their camp. Elladan and Elrohir were not interested in strategy or caution. They wanted only to kill. I took to the trees to cover them as they charged the camp. They fought with all the expertise, but none of the caution Glorfindel had instilled in them. They were deadly in their fury, but my arrows picked off more than one Orc who would have approached their unprotected backs as their anger made them reckless. I fell into a rhythm. Nock, aim, fire. Nock, aim, fire. In minutes or hours, I know not, the pack was slaughtered. I collected the arrows that were still usable while the twins cleaned their weapons. They did not even glance at the hideous remains around us.

When we had finished our tasks, we remounted and rode on, not stopping until Arien had sunk below the horizon. We made camp as we had ridden, in silence. The only sounds I had heard from either all day had been their battle cries. Only after we had eaten did Elrohir speak. “Twenty fewer Orcs plague Arda tonight,” he said. The dead tone of his voice troubled me. It was the tone of one with nothing to live for.

“It is not enough,” Elladan replied. “Two hundred, two thousand, it will never be enough.”

I realized in that moment just how right Arwen had been to worry. My friends were not just out here to kill Orcs. They had passed the point of caring whether they lived or died. I had not thought to work that hard to keep my promise to bring them back alive, but I was suddenly glad that I had spoken to my father. Elladan and Elrohir were not going to be persuaded to pass up a fight because of the odds. They would kill Orcs until the Orcs were dead or they were.

“Which way shall we ride in the morning?” I asked, hoping they had not really thought about it.

“Wherever there are Orcs,” Elladan replied in that same empty voice.

“There are Orcs aplenty toward Mirkwood, with Dol Guldur active again. If you truly care not, let us ride that way,” I suggested.

“To Dol Guldur,” Elrohir agreed.

We had been riding and hunting in the general direction of Mirkwood for a week when I heard the birdcall that my father’s soldiers used as a signal. I was relieved to know that we had found them. So far, we had only come across small bands of Orcs, easily dispatched, but I did not know how long our luck would hold. I would try to speak to the captain during my watch that night. 

I offered to take second watch, knowing it would be hard to slip away during first watch with the twins only barely asleep. I waited at least an hour into my watch before moving away from our camp and returning the call I had heard earlier. It was immediately answered. I walked toward the sound.

“Prince Legolas?” a voice asked in the darkness.

“Aye,” I replied, surprised and relieved to see Saelbeth, my father’s seneschal. “My father sent you, Saelbeth?”

“King Thranduil seemed to think you would need my counsel as well as my sword.”

“Wise as always,” I said with a smile. “I am worried, Saelbeth. I wonder, truly, if the Peredhil seek death. They are beyond reckless. If we meet a large party of Orcs, they will get themselves, and me, killed. They fight with no heed for themselves, or even for each other. I have managed so far to cover their backs, but even I can only fire so quickly. I am frightened for them.”

“And for the impact their deaths would have on their sister, I imagine.” My father had not confided my state to many, but he had told his seneschal of my love for Arwen.

“I promised I would keep them safe from Orcs. I did not realize that I would have to keep them safe from themselves as well. I do not want to be foresworn.”

“There are twenty of us here. Between us, we should be able to defeat any regular party of Orcs. Unless an army marches from Dol Guldur, we should be able to take them. Do the Peredhil know we are here?”

“Nay, and I want to keep it that way if we can. They accept my presence because we have been friends for a long time and because I am not trying to dissuade them from their course of action. I know not how they would react to having a patrol on their heels.”

Saelbeth smiled. “What they do not know cannot hurt them, ernil nín. We will watch your backs.”

“Hannon le, Saelbeth. Where should I take them to hunt?”

Saelbeth updated me on the Orc movements in the woods of my home. From the sound of it, Elladan and Elrohir would have plenty to do for as long as the rage controlled them.

We had been hunting for several months, Saelbeth’s patrols taking care of any large bands, leaving the three of us to take care of any smaller bands, when I woke from my reverie to the sound of tears. I sat up in my bedroll to find Elrohir trying to stifle his sobs as he sat on watch. He had not seen me awake yet, so I risked a whistle to check on the Mirkwood patrol. The call that answered me assured me that I could distract Elrohir from his watch. Saelbeth’s soldiers would guard us awhile.

“What troubles you, meldir?” I asked, startling Elrohir.

“Nothing, Legolas. Go back to sleep.”

“’Ro, do not lie to me. I heard you crying when I awoke. Share your troubles with me. I may not be able to help, but I can provide a listening ear.”

“I…” Elrohir began fitfully. “I had hoped to… to stop… I had hoped that killing Orcs would help.”

“Help what, ‘Ro?”

“Help me feel better.”

“How do you feel?”

“Sad. Angry. Guilty.”

That last surprised me. “Guilty?”

“Ell and I were supposed to go to Lórien to escort Amme home, but we were late. It was our own fault. Amme left without us and was captured. It was our fault that she was attacked, our fault that she lies at home, fading.”

“She did not travel alone, ‘Ro. She had an escort, some of the best Lórien had to offer, and they were all killed. Do you really think you could have made a difference?”

“We should have been there,” Elrohir repeated heatedly. “Even it made no difference, we should have been there.”

“And now your father would be caring for three of you instead of focusing on your mother. Or maybe they would both be grieving for you while they struggle to heal her wounds. Would that be better?” I knew I was being harsh, but I did not know how else to get through to him.

“You do not know that. Perhaps we could have saved her.”

“Perhaps you could have,” I admitted finally, for I had seen the twins fight. They were formidable enemies. “Is what we are doing now helping you?”

“Not really.”

“Then maybe you should go home. If your mother does decide to leave for Valinor, will you not regret it if you are not there?”

Elrohir did not speak for many long minutes. I was about to give up and agree to continue this futile quest when he finally said, “Let us go home.”

“We will tell Elladan in the morning. I must admit, it would be nice to sleep in a bed again.”

“In my sister’s bed, you mean,” Elrohir teased.

“In any bed,” I replied, refusing to let him bait me.

Elvish translations

Ada – father

Ernil-neth – young prince

Hannon le – thank you

Hiril nín – my lady

Ion nín – my son

Melin chen – I love you

Mir nín – my treasure

Nach maetolo – you’re welcome

Pen-neth – young one

Chapter 23

Elladan was not happy when Elrohir announced our decision to return to Imladris, but he acceded to his brother’s wishes. And so, six months to the day after we set out, we returned to the Last Homely House, tired, a little bruised and battered from our time in the wild, but safe and alive, as I had promised.

We found that little had changed in our absence. Celebrían’s body had healed, but it was obvious that her spirit had not. She rarely left her rooms, and when she did, it was only to walk in her garden. She was not gone yet, but we could sense Mandos on her. She would have to leave soon if she was to go to Valinor. Otherwise, Mandos’ cold Halls would be her destination.

Still, she was obviously glad to see her sons again, even going so far as to thank me for keeping them safe. Arwen thanked me as well, in the privacy of her rooms. When we lay, contented, in each other’s arms, she asked me about the time in the wild.

“It was bad,” I told her honestly. “They kept count, for a while, of how many Orcs they slaughtered. They stopped counting long before they stopped killing.”

“They will not stay if Amme leaves, will they?” she asked.

“I do not know for sure,” I replied, “but I would not be surprised if they returned to the hunt.”

“Why did they come home now?”

I related my conversation with Elrohir.

“You did well to bring them back. Amme has been worried for them. Perhaps now she will be able to rest.”

I wondered if Arwen realized yet how truly serious her mother’s condition was. Having the twins back would ease one worry, certainly, but it would not heal what ailed her. I was trying to frame my question when Arwen spoke again.

“I know it will not stop her from fading, but maybe it will bring her some peace in the meantime. She suffers so, Legolas. She cannot bear to be touched. I want to hug her, to show her that I love her, but she flinches if I even sit too close. The only touch she can accept is Ada’s, but even then, she only tolerates it. She used to crave his touch, to hold his hand under the table, to lean against him as they walked in the garden. She does not pull away from him now, as she did when she first came back, but she still does not seek him out. I do not understand.”

I did not either, not really, but I struggled to explain anyway. “They hurt her in such very personal ways, Arwen. Everything that your parents shared willingly, that you and I share willingly, they took from her or forced on her without her consent, and now, every touch that once brought joy or comfort brings terrible memories of pain.”

“Two and a half millennia of joy destroyed by a few weeks of pain? Can she truly have forgotten everything they shared?”

“Not forgotten, I am sure, but the pain is so immediate, so real. You said she accepts his touch. She has not forgotten completely or she would not let him touch her at all, but the pain is overwhelming her, until she struggles to feel anything else.”

“How do you know this?”

“Do you remember the arrow I took, in my thigh? It was poisoned. Orc poison. It played with my mind and my memories. For weeks, I was trapped in a fever caused by the poison where every touch was a nightmare. Even when I regained consciousness and the touches stopped hurting, the memory of pain caused me to tense when people came to care for me. It took me weeks to control that reaction, and months to stop it. That from one wound in my thigh. How much more did your mother suffer, mir nín? She is caught in a nightmare that is killing her. She will recover in time, but she has not the time here that she needs. She will take the ship to the Undying Lands where she will have the time she needs to heal, and when next you see her, she will be as you remember. You know this separation is not permanent. Hold on to that.”

The next morning after breakfast, much to my surprise, a servant told me that Celebrían wanted to speak with me in the garden. Alone. I exchanged a questioning glance with Arwen, but she seemed as surprised as I was. I followed the servant, wondering what Celebrían could possibly have to say to me, of all people.

“Hiril nín?” I said with a bow when I saw her. “You wanted to speak with me?”

“Aye, pen-neth. Please, sit.” She gestured to a chair set opposite of hers. I took the seat she indicated and waited for her to explain.

“I am sure you have realized by now what is happening to me. They all try to deny it, to assure me that I am getting well, that I will heal in time, but I know better. I am fading, and all the pretending in the world will not change that.”

“I do not know what to say, hiril nín, except that you will be missed.”

“I am not leaving quite yet, but it will be within a month, I think. I have a favor to ask before I go.”

“Of course, hiril nín. You have only to ask.”

“Do not agree, pen-neth, until you have heard what I ask. I want you to take care of Arwen for me. The twins will take care of each other as they always have. Elrond has a vision of the future and a role for himself to console him. But Arwen has no one.”

“I will take care of her, hiril nín. For as long as I live, I will watch over her.”

“Do you know what you are giving up, Legolas? At least until she meets the one Elrond and my mother have foreseen for her, you will not be free to make a commitment either. What will happen when you fall in love and want to take a mate?”

“As you well know, Lady Celebrían, I have already fallen in love. With your daughter. And I cannot take her as my mate. I will watch over her until someone else comes to take that responsibility. And even then I will watch.”

“And if you meet someone else?”

I was growing impatient with her insistence. “Then I will make sure that my mate understands my commitment to Arwen. She will be as a sister to me, and I will watch over her.”

Celebrían seemed satisfied with my answer, finally.

“Hannon le, ernil-neth. I can rest easier now and leave with a lighter heart.”

“Nach maetolo, hiril nín.” I hesitated then asked. “Have you seen something? About me?”

“I have not the gift of foresight, Legolas. I have only a mother’s concern for her child. You have stayed with my daughter, and she with you, for over two thousand years with no promises to bind either of you, a long time even for Elves, but the lack of promises scares me. You are both free to love others. I do not want her abandoned because you have found a new love.”

I considered her words. “I do not know what the Valar have in store for me, but Arwen will always, always have a place in my life and in my heart. That place will change when she meets her mate, but she will still be a part of my life, even if I have no more place in hers. And I could never love the kind of Elf who would expect me to cut Arwen out of my life. I will keep her safe. I promise.”

Celebrían searched my eyes carefully. Though she claimed to have none of her mother’s powers, I felt that gaze to the depths of my soul. “I believe you will, ion nín. I believe you will.”

“Hiril nín?” I asked, surprised. She had never called me that before.

“You have been a part of my life, and of my daughter’s, since the day she was born. I thought it about time I acknowledged that.”

I had to laugh. “You and my father.”

“So Thranduil knows and approves? That is good. Take her to Mirkwood for a time after I have gone. She will have no peace from her memories here or in Lórien.”

“I will suggest it,” I promised.

“Leave me now, ion nín. I grow weary.”

I bowed again as I took my leave, afraid to embrace the gentle Lady I had truly come to love. We did not speak again in Arda.

As she predicted, within the month, Celebrían rode for the Grey Havens to take the ships into the west. She refused to let Elrond or her children escort her there, claiming that saying good-bye was hard enough at home. Almost immediately after her departure, the twins returned to the wild. I did not go with them, and Arwen did not ask me to. I did manage to learn that they planned to return to Mirkwood. With Erestor’s help, we notified my father of Celebrían’s departure and the twins’ imminent arrival.

My father asked after Elrond and then announced that he would be visiting Imladris shortly to offer his assistance. That sent Erestor into a panic that lasted until my father’s arrival. Upon arriving, he embraced me, then Arwen, shook off all the formalities that Erestor had prepared and ensconced himself in the library.

“Leave Elrond in peace to grieve,” he declared. “I will do what needs to be done for Imladris.”

Elrond was grateful. Shocked, but grateful. He retired to the little cottage in the woods for two months to grieve, refusing all visitors except, strangely enough, my father. I do not know what passed between the two in the hours they spent together, but I do know that when Elrond finally emerged, he was once again in control of himself, even if he never fully regained the joy in living that he had shared with Celebrían.

Seeing Elrond recovered, my father announced that the time had come for him to return home. He embraced me, then Arwen, urging her to visit him in Mirkwood. Then he mounted Fanya and left as quickly as he had come.

“He is not what I expected,” Arwen said as we watched him ride away.

“That is the effect he usually has,” I laughed. “One never knows what to expect from King Thranduil.”

“Did he mean it when he invited me to visit?”

“Aye. He never issues an invitation that he does not mean.”

“I would like that.”

“Would you?” I was surprised. “You never expressed any interest in visiting my home before.”

“I never had an invitation before, either,” she replied archly.

I struggled to explain why I had never invited her, to explain about the Shadow and its effect on my home.

“I would like to visit,” she repeated.

And so it was that Arwen came to Mirkwood and I was able to show her my home. We made no secret in Mirkwood of being lovers, any more than we had elsewhere, so it came as no great surprise when my father took Arwen under his wing. He explained right away that there had not been a female influence in Mirkwood since my mother left the day after I reached my majority. Arwen was to make any changes she saw as necessary because, he told her, he was tired of living in a house and was ready to have a home again. Arwen took him at his word, and little signs of her presence began appearing; a new tapestry behind my father’s throne, flowers on the tables, scented oils instead of plain in the baths. Celebrían had always run Imladris. For the first time, Arwen was the Lady of a house, and she reveled in it. 

Then, much to my delight, she set all of Mirkwood on its ear by challenging my father to a duel. 

My father accepted, knowing from my tales that Arwen could handle a sword. He even did her the honor of using his father’s sword, which he had not used since the Last Alliance. Their match was the talk of Mirkwood for years after.

I could tell, at first, that my father was holding back, but when Arwen began to press him, he abandoned that restraint and fought with all the skill and cunning he possessed. The duel lasted. And lasted. And lasted. Neither could gain an advantage over the other. Finally, my father offered a draw and succeeded where everyone else had failed. Arwen laughed as she accepted his offer. It was such a sweet sound, as sweet as any cry she had made in my arms. I had begun to wonder if she would ever laugh again, for even her smiles were rare before that day. She did not forget her grief because of that one moment, but her heart was lighter, and she never again allowed any to speak ill of my father in her presence.

For a year, she graced us with her light and her grace. For a year, the Shadow seemed less of a threat, though the Orcs and the spiders continued to attack. For a year, I lived the life of my dreams. Arwen was in my house. In my room. In my bed. Then a messenger arrived from Lórien. Galadriel desired to see her granddaughter, and Arwen could not refuse. Other than for brief visits, she remained there for four hundred forty years.

Thus it was that I stood outside my father’s palace and watched Arwen ride away, as I had done so many times in the past. “Melin chen,” I whispered as she disappeared from sight.

“Will you never tell her, ion nín?” my father asked. “She was happy here. I believe she would return if you asked.”

“Nay, Ada. However much I desire that, she is not for me.”

Elvish translations

Estel – hope

Estel i eneth nín – my name is Estel

Tôr – brother (blood)

Mae govannen – well met

Meldir – friend (male)

Chapter 24

I was hunting, taking some time for myself, when next my life turned upside down. As promised, I had visited Arwen often in Lórien for it was days, not weeks, from Mirkwood. This day, though, I traveled for the pure pleasure of it. I had no fixed destination, no time when I had to arrive. My father could farspeak me if I was needed at home, but until he did, I was finally free to explore the beauty of Arda.

The sounds of battle drew me away from the deer I was tracking. With the experience of years to guide me, I took to the trees to investigate. I advanced cautiously, trying to see who was fighting and perhaps why. What I saw when I could finally see the fighters caused my heart to turn over in my chest for the second time in my life. A young Man fought a pack of Orcs in the clearing. He was outnumbered, but there was no panic in his demeanor. He fought calmly, dispatching one Orc after another. Even as I fired the first arrow, I registered that this young Man was wearing Elvish garments. I fired and reached for another arrow, noting with approval that the young warrior did not turn to seek me out, keeping his attention firmly fixed on the fight. As I fired again, I recognized the style of the swordplay. However unlikely it seemed, I recognized Glorfindel’s teachings in this warrior’s movements. As I prepared to fire again, two more figures joined the fray below me. I did not need to think to recognize the fluid forms of the Imladris twins. I had fought often enough with Elladan and Elrohir to know them even in the blur of battle. They joined the Man against the Orcs, dispatching their enemies with deadly efficiency.

When all the Orcs were dead, Elladan retrieved one of my arrows from a corpse. He tossed the arrow to Elrohir. “It appears we had help, tôr,” he said in Elvish.

“I know this arrow,” Elrohir replied, beginning to search for me.

“Will I forever be guarding your backs, then, mellyn?” I asked, still speaking Elvish, as I dropped from my perch in the tree.

“Mae govannen, Legolas!” Elrohir exclaimed, clasping my shoulder in the warrior’s greeting that I returned.

“Mae govannnen,” I replied. “How is it that you fight side by side with a Man?”

“They fight side by side with their brother,” the youth answered, turning to face me and I got my first good look at Aragorn, son of Arathorn, future King of Gondor and Arnor. For although the twins called him by his Elvish name, he became Aragorn to me long ago. He was as fair of face as he was of form, dark-haired, with a penetrating stare even at that age. I felt again that tightening in my chest that I had only ever felt when looking at Arwen.

“Brother?” I asked, surprised, looking from one twin to the other for confirmation. Certainly the Man had spoken with all the fluency of an Elf, but I thought I would have heard if Elrond had had another child.

“Estel is our foster-brother,” Elladan said with a smile.

“Estel?” I asked. Hope. It seemed a strange name to me.

“Aye,” the youth returned, obviously beginning to take offense. “Estel i eneth nín.”

“Mae govannen, Estel,” I said, offering him the same warrior’s greeting I had offered his brothers. I was expecting to feel his hand on my shoulder. I was not expecting the immediate effect that touch had on me, the same effect that Arwen had. I had never felt that way with the lovers I had known before Arwen. Only with her. I wondered what it meant, such an electric contact from someone I had only just met.

I forced down my reaction and turned back to my friends. “You are a long way from home, mellyn. What brings you this way?”

“The same as always. Hunting Orcs,” Elladan replied, beginning to set up their camp. “Only now there are three of us instead of only two.”

As he spoke, Elrohir and Aragorn excused themselves to wash off the grime of battle in a nearby stream. When they were out of earshot, I spoke again. “I must admit, I am curious. I had not heard that Elrond had fostered a child.”

“He has been with us for seventeen years.”

“He is still a child, then.”

“Not for a year now. Men reach their majority at eighteen, and he did not come to us until he was two. Why the questions, Legolas?”

“I told you. I was curious. I usually have news from Imladris, but I had heard nothing of this.”

“I know little of his story, and he knows even less I think. Ada took him in after his father was killed by Orcs. That is really all we were ever told,” Elladan volunteered.

“He fights well.”

“He has not the speed of an Elf, but there is power in his strokes that is hard to resist.” I eyed Elladan askance. Had he just implied what I thought he had implied, or was I reading too much into his words because of my own state? I decided not to react, not wanting to give Elladan too much information. After all, I had only just met Aragorn. 

Before he could say more, Elrohir and Aragorn returned from the stream. Neither one was wearing a tunic as they had washed their dirty tunics and had not taken the clean ones with them. I had met Men before Aragorn, but that was my first chance to observe the finer differences between Men and Elves. Elrohir was the taller of the two, but Aragorn was broader through the shoulders. Even at nineteen, his chest was roped with muscle, visible muscle unlike the more subtle muscles of the Elves. To my surprise, I realized that his chest was covered with a light dusting of hair. It was so different from what I was used to, my fingers itched to touch. I noticed as well that his legs were more obviously muscular than Elvish bodies. Oh yes, I longed to touch. He gave no sign that he noticed my appraisal, but some of what I was feeling must have shown on my face for Elladan nudged me with his boot.

I turned to look at him quizzically. “Watch your eyes, meldir,” was all he said.

Elvish translations

Elleth – Elf maid

Ellon – Elf male

Gwador – brother

Chapter 25

We finished setting up the camp, lighting a fire and spreading out our bedrolls to rest. Elladan and Elrohir placed their bedrolls side by side as always. Being half-Elven, they felt the cold much more than I did, though not as badly as Aragorn. We settled for a light meal of lembas since our fight with the Orcs had undoubtedly driven away all the game in the nearby area. The twins talked and bantered, as they always did. Aragorn joined in, giving as good as he got. The affection between the three of them was obvious. Anyone listening to them would have known they were brothers. Especially when Elladan related a particularly embarrassing moment from when Aragorn had felt the first stirrings of attraction. Aragorn retaliated by bringing up Orophin, Elladan’s latest lover. Judging by the look on Elladan’s face, he had not known that Aragorn knew about his relationship with the Galadhel. That made the exchange even more fascinating. Rarely did I see Elladan caught that off guard. When he recovered his composure, Elladan turned on his twin. “You said you would not tell anyone about Orophin and me.”

“I said nothing,” Elrohir swore, throwing up his hands to protest his innocence.

“Then where did you hear about Orophin, gwador?” Elladan demanded, turning back to Aragorn.

“You have not made all those trips to Lórien just to visit your grandparents. And Lord Celeborn did not suddenly demote one of his best border guards to a messenger for no reason. It was obvious to anyone who bothered to pay attention,” Aragorn replied calmly.

“Fine, but now I shall have to mention Berianir,” Elladan threatened. My ears perked up, wondering who Berianir was to Aragorn.

“And why would you want to mention him?” Aragorn asked. He had not yet perfected that quietly commanding tone, the one he would later use to such effect with Kings and Princes from all the realms of Middle Earth, but the underlying displeasure was clear.

“He fancies you, in case you had not noticed,” Elladan replied.

“I had not,” Aragorn retorted, though his blush suggested otherwise. 

“Then perhaps…” Elladan continued to list names, making it clear that Aragorn had caught the interest of many an elleth and ellon in Rivendell. Aragorn continued to deny returning their interest, but he blushed as he protested. Only an innocent, or one still mostly innocent, could blush as often Aragorn did that night.

I forced myself to look away finally, for I found Aragorn’s blushing far too tempting for my peace of mind. I offered to take the first watch when it came time to sleep. There was no way I could have fallen asleep right away. The twins snuggled together under their bedrolls, sharing their body heat as they always did on chilly nights. Aragorn scooted his bedroll as close as he could to the fire, not having even a half-Elf’s resistance to cold. 

I watched him settle under the bedroll, face relaxing and eyes closing in sleep. It shocked me for a moment, seeing those eyes closed, before I remembered that Men slept that way. As I sat there, staring at his handsome face, I realized with shock and guilt that I had spent an entire evening with Arwen’s brothers and had not asked about her once. I loved her. What was wrong with me? How could I love Arwen and still look with desire on this Man? I knew that she would eventually leave me for another, though I did not know for whom, but that affected her feelings, not mine. For twenty-seven centuries, I had been faithful to Arwen. Even when we were separated, I had not taken other lovers. I wanted none but her. Now, mere hours after meeting a man – a Man! - I was pondering him and the delights of his body rather than thinking of Arwen as I had always done on long watches. I had never considered that I might meet someone else, not even after my conversation with Celebrían before her departure for Valinor. I had answered her when she asked what I would do if I met someone, but I had not believed it could ever happen. And then it had, with Elrond’s foster-son, and a Man, no less, with whom I might spend fifty years, if I was lucky, before losing him to death. I was not so naïve as to believe that I knew him well enough to love him, not only a few hours after meeting him, but I was intrigued by him. By the way he combined Elvish grace with the power of Men. By the way he spoke Elvish fluently, without even an accent to betray his heritage, though, if I knew Elrond, he spoke Westron just as fluently. By the way he teased Elladan and Elrohir and the way they responded. By his earthy innocence, which should have been a contradiction, but somehow was not. By his charisma, which even at nineteen, was beginning to show. 

The question of loving them both tortured me for hours that night, and on many other nights as well, as I struggled to reconcile my conflicting feelings for Arwen and for Aragorn. I had always desired Arwen as my mate, but I had also always known that she would never be. Elvish law forbid it; Elrond forbid it; Arwen had never spoken of it so I did not dare. What we shared was wonderful when we were together, but we were apart far more often, and melancholy was my constant companion during those times. Elves not privy to my counsel had often wondered, even within my hearing, why I did not seek a mate to console me when I was so obviously lonely. I had always answered that I had not found yet anyone I could take as a mate. It was a fine line between truth and lie, for I had found someone I wanted, but I could not have her. Suddenly, lying not ten feet away from me was someone who inspired in me the same feelings that Arwen did. And he was someone I could perhaps take as a mate. Even if his mortality meant that our bond would die with him. Surely I would not be betraying Arwen to pursue this, not when I knew she would some day leave me, no matter how faithful I remained to her.

I was still wrestling with my dilemma when a sound caught my attention. Aragorn rolled over in his sleep, pulling the folds of his bedroll tighter around his shoulders. Ithil gave just enough light for me to see a shiver run through him. I rose from my spot and went to my bedroll. I still carried a double blanket in my pack, for I had not been home since winter, but the temperature had warmed enough that I would only need one. I pulled out the extra blanket and draped it across the sleeping form, my hand brushing gently across his shoulder. He relaxed almost immediately under my touch, falling into a deeper sleep. 

I settled on a log next to where he was sleeping, adding more wood to the fire to keep him warm. He was so beautiful bathed in moonlight and the light of the fire. His blue eyes were closed in sleep so I could not ponder them, but I eagerly studied the rest of his features. His high forehead was still smooth, unmarked by the burdens he would later carry. His dark hair, which had earlier been bound in warrior’s braids, was loose, brushing his shoulders, short by Elvish standards, though not by the standards of Men. The lower half of his face was covered by the beginnings of a beard that did nothing to hide the stubborn jut of his chin or the fullness of his lips. I dreamed of kissing those lips as I sat there, wondering what the beard would feel like against my own smooth skin. Would his lips be firm, demanding, or would they yield to mine? I pictured the body I had seen half-revealed earlier that evening. Imagined how those muscles would give under my hands. How those arms would feel holding me close. Then I chided myself for my thoughts. He had given me no indication that he was the least bit interested in me. Or in males at all. There had been male names among those Elladan had thrown at him during their banter, but there had been female names as well. Aragorn’s reaction had been the same to all the names. Indifference, though real or feigned I could not tell. He certainly had learned the Elvish trick of hiding one’s thoughts. All that conversation revealed for sure was that he had no steady lover. If he had, the other Elves would not have continued pursuing him. Elves did not poach.

He shifted again, his hair falling across his face. I was so tempted to reach out and brush it back. My hand was reaching for him when I jerked it back. I did not yet have the right to touch him that way, not without his permission. A time came when I did not hesitate to touch him, but that time had not yet arrived, and I would not take from him what he might not be willing to give.

Instead, I sat beside him, watching over his sleep, until Arien rose in the east.


	6. Chapters 26-30

Elvish translations

A – and

Tôr – brother

Hannon chen – thank you

Nach maetolo – you’re welcome

Mae govannen – well met

Meldir – friend

Mellyn – friends

Chapter 26

Arien’s light woke the twins. They were surprised to see me still standing watch. “Why did you not wake us, meldir?” Elrohir asked.

“I was not sleepy,” I replied, “and I saw no reason to disturb your rest when I could not have slept anyway. Now that you are awake, I will go and bathe.”

I rose and gathered my change of clothes, heading for the nearby stream. The water was bracing in the chill morning, but that did not bother me as I washed away the battle from the previous day and the tensions of the night. I was partially dressed when Aragorn came out of the woods and began to remove his clothes in preparation for his own morning ablutions.

“Mae govannen, Estel,” I greeted him, wanting to alert him to my presence. I was not going to complain if he wanted to strip naked in front of me, but I did not want him to do it not knowing I was there.

“Mae govannen, Legolas, a hannon chen,” he replied. The tunic came off and landed on the ground at his feet.

“Nach maetolo.” I had no idea why he was thanking me and my confusion must have shown on my face. At least my desire was not showing.

“For loaning me your blanket,” he clarified.

“It was nothing, Estel. I have two and used neither last night. You are welcome to use the extra one as long as it remains chill.”

“Thank you again.” He reached for the lacings on his leggings. I would have stayed just for the pleasure of seeing the rest of his body, but Elrohir called my name from the campsite.

I gathered my belongings and returned to camp. “What is it, ‘Ro?” I asked.

“What troubles your mind, meldir, that you did not sleep? Do we need to detour to Lórien?”

“That will not be necessary. I visited Arwen last spring. I have not sunk so low that I cannot go a year without seeing her. I just had some thinking to do.”

“There is no need to keep secrets from us, Legolas,” Elladan interjected. “We know all your secrets anyway.”

That was no longer completely true. I had a new secret, one that they did not know, and I was not sure how they would react to it when they found out. And they would find out. They were not going to leave their brother with me for no reason so they would see anything I did to attract Aragorn’s interest, and then there would be a reckoning.

When I did not reply, Elrohir looked at his brother. “I think that he has a new secret, tôr, one that he is not so eager to reveal.”

I glanced back toward the stream to make sure Aragorn was not yet coming back to camp. “I will tell you, but I do not think you will be pleased.”

“Estel,” Elladan guessed before I could speak again.

“He is…” I paused, searching for the right word.

“Young,” Elrohir suggested.

“Mortal,” Elladan said at the same time.

“He is both those things, and your foster-brother, I know. He is also fascinating. You both know I cannot bind with Arwen, however much I might want to. I will always love her. Nothing can change that. But for the first time since I fell in love with her, someone else also stirs my interest. I have only ever managed to share a few stolen weeks, months at the most, with Arwen, always with years between our meetings. I am lonely, mellyn, but I have never met anyone else I wanted to be with. Now maybe I have. I do not want to let this chance pass just because there are obstacles. Maybe nothing will come of my efforts, but maybe, just maybe, something will, and for a few years, I will be happy.”

The twins stared at me in silence. I knew that silence. It meant they were speaking to each other in their minds. It used to bother me when they did that, but I had grown used to it. They would share their thoughts with me when they were ready.

“You deserve to be happy, Legolas,” Elladan said finally.

“Hannon chen, mellyn.”

At that moment, Aragorn reappeared. We ate quickly and gathered our packs to continue. I had hunted with the twins before, both for food and for vengeance. This hunt was different. Perhaps time had dulled their pain and thus their blind desire for killing Orcs. Or perhaps they were less willing to expose their foster-brother to danger. Either way, while we tracked down the Orcs whose sign we saw, that day, and every day, we did not seek them as we had when I fought with the twins after their mother’s capture. We hunted more for food than for Orcs, wanting to conserve our lembas as long as possible. We were in no hurry to return to civilization.

That night, as we sat around the campfire talking and cooking, I pulled out one of my knives. I had used it that afternoon to bleed out the deer Elrohir brought down, and was not satisfied with the edge. I retrieved my whetstone and oil from my pack and began to sharpen the fine steel. As I did, I watched Aragorn surreptitiously from under my eyelashes. The twins claimed he was the best cook of the three, and we all knew that I was no master, though I could usually manage not to burn a meal beyond all recognition, so Aragorn had been put in charge of the deer. As I watched, I pondered my course of action. Never before had I been the pursuer in a relationship. The lovers I had known before Arwen had all pursued me, and even with Arwen, there had been no courtship, no gentle wooing to tempt her into my arms. The agreement to participate in her Cuivië had determined the nature of our relationship. I realized, as I sat there, that I had no real idea how to catch the attention of the current object of my desire, especially since he was a warrior. Did one court a warrior as one courted a maid? I was hopelessly out of my depth, and I was not going to ask the two sitting across from me for assistance. First, I was not sure they would give it, for all that they had not objected to my plans. Second, and more importantly, I was not going to give them that kind of ammunition to hold over me later. They knew far too well how to mention incriminating information at inopportune times. I wanted Aragorn to find out how I felt, but I did not want him to find out from them. I had to figure this out on my own.

I know better than to handle a knife while distracted, and I knew it then, but I could not seem to keep my mind or my eyes on what I was doing. My hand slipped, and my knife slashed across my palm.

My curse was low but audible as I dropped the knife, cradling my bleeding hand in the other one. The three brothers looked up at the sound. “What have you done, Legolas?” Elladan asked.

“Nothing,” I answered. “ It is just a scratch.”

“No scratch I have ever seen bled like that,” Aragorn said, coming to my side and examining my hand.

Elrohir joined him. “That does not look good,” Elrohir agreed. “We will camp for a few days, to give you time to heal.”

“A few days?” Aragorn asked, obviously surprised.

“Legolas heals slowly,” Elladan said. I shot him a look over Aragorn’s head, begging him not to reveal the cause. He looked disapproving but said nothing.

“At least let me bind it,” Aragorn said. I must have hesitated because Elrohir encouraged, “It is all right, Legolas. Ada trained him well.”

I submitted, allowing Aragorn to clean and bind my hand. “How long does it usually take you to heal?” he asked.

“Three, maybe four days,” I answered, considering the depth of the wound. I had paid attention to my healing time since my conversation with Elrond, millennia ago, so I would know if I needed to visit Arwen.

“We are in no hurry. This is as good a place to rest as any,” Elladan observed, looking around. “We can shelter under that overhang. It should block the wind and any rain.”

The twins moved our packs under the overhang while Aragorn returned to the meat over the fire. We ate when he deemed it ready. It was a simple meal, venison flavored by smoke and hunger, but it was delicious.

After dinner, we lay out our bedrolls, getting ready for sleep. Aragorn and I were covered in blood from the deer. We could hear a stream running over rocks at the base of the valley so we decided to explore, hoping to wash away some of the gore before we slept. The twins declined to come with us, saying they were too tired. Elladan winked at me, though, as we were leaving, making me wonder at their real reasons. I was not about to complain, however, at the opportunity to be alone with Aragorn. We found the stream easily. Much to our delight, the stream was deep enough in places that we could wade in up to our waists, thus enabling us to take a real bath, even if the water was cold. I removed only my boots before entering the water, letting the current wash the blood from my tunic and leggings. When they were clean, I stepped back onto the bank to remove the garments. I noticed that Aragorn was already in the water, washing out his own clothes. The opportunity presented itself so I took a moment to appreciate what I could see of his body. Of course, looking was not enough.

“Shall I wash your back for you, Estel?” I called. He turned to face me as I strode, naked, into the stream.

“N..no, thank you,” Aragorn stuttered, flushing as he looked away. Oh, his face was priceless. It appeared that my young friend was shy.

“Suit yourself,” I replied, hiding my smirk as best I could. I washed my hair and what I could reach of my body. Then I decided to try again. “Estel, I cannot reach my back. Would you mind?” I turned so that my back was facing him, hoping that would be less intimidating than my front. 

Aragorn approached slowly, obviously ill at ease, but not wanting to refuse. I looked back over my shoulder, smiling encouragingly. I wish I could have read his mind, for his face was a carefully blank mask. I handed him the soap without turning, pulling my hair forward to give him unfettered access, and an unfettered view of my back. His hands were oh, so tentative when they finally touched me, brushing too lightly over my skin. I forced myself to stillness, quelling a shiver that coursed through me at the teasing touch. I knew it was a lack of confidence that made him touch me that way, but it felt like the touch of a lover. 

“Hannon chen, meldir. That feels wonderful,” I said with a sigh. “Are you sure you would not like me to return the favor?” I heard a muffled squeak behind me that might have been a no as he quickly finished and backed away. I sank into the water, letting the soap wash away. That proved too much for Aragorn’s composure. He fled the stream, grabbing his damp clothes as he retreated to the campsite. I could not help it. I started laughing as I watched him run up the hill, naked as the day he was born. It certainly appeared that I had found a way to catch his attention. 

Elvish translations

Cuivië – awakening

Meldir – friend

Nestadren nín – my healer (lit. my healing)

Veston – I promise

Chapter 27

I took my time returning to camp. Elrohir and Aragorn were missing, but Elladan sat still by the guttering fire.

“Where are your brothers?” I asked, looking around the camp.

“Estel came back from him the stream in an absolute panic. He dressed as quickly as he could and took off that way. Elrohir went after him to keep an eye on him and calm him down. What did you do to him, Legolas?” Elladan looked like he could not decide whether to laugh or to be angry.

“I offered to wash his back, which he refused, and asked him to wash mine. I did not expect the reaction I received, Ell. It was as if he had never seen a naked male before.”

“Other than himself, ‘Ro and me, he probably has not, at least not outside the infirmary. Ada raised him as an Elf in most respects, but his mother would never let him use the public baths. It took him weeks after we began traveling to be comfortable bathing in front of ‘Ro and me,” Elladan told me.

“Why would she not let him use the public baths?” I was curious. Elves had little modesty when it came to bathing.

“Apparently, public baths are not the way of Men. She was willing to accede to most things Elvish, but not the issue of modesty. Poor Estel. You probably scared the boy half to death. I imagine you did nothing to hide yourself from him.”

“Hardly,” I laughed. “It never would have occurred to me to do so, though I would not have, even if I had thought of it. I want him to notice me.”

“He noticed, that much is sure. ‘Ro will calm him down. Just tread a little more carefully if you hope to have any success.”

“When you were teasing him last night, you mentioned Berianir…” I began.

“You have no competition, if that is what you are asking. Estel has expressed no interest in that Elf, or in any other.”

“That is good to know, but that is not so much what I was asking. Men are not known for their tolerance of relationships between males.”

“Ah, well, that could be a concern, though he is comfortable with Glorfindel and Erestor, whether in the classroom or out of it. And you heard him last night discussing my relationship with Orophin. There was no condemnation in his voice. If you told him you had a male lover, he would accept it. I just do not know how he will react if you ask him to be that lover. He apparently expressed no interest in any particular Elf so his mother chose a very safe, very staid, if pretty, she-Elf for his Cuivië. To my knowledge, that has been his one and only experience.”

My assumption the night before had been correct. Aragorn was still almost completely innocent. As if reading my mind, Elladan added, “In every other domain, Estel is experienced beyond his years, but he is still a child where anything sexual is concerned. Be kind to him, Legolas.”

“As kind as if it were his Cuivië all over again, meldir. Veston.” I would have to change my plans, such as they were, at least a little, having realized the real extent of Aragorn’s innocence. I had thought to simply create situations in which my interest was clear so he could reciprocate if he chose. Obviously, that was not going to be enough. I was going to have to seduce him. And in doing so, introduce him to the idea of seduction. Fortunately, I had always enjoyed a challenge. I considered how best to go about it and decided being completely straightforward was the best option.

A few minutes later, Aragorn and Elrohir returned to the campsite. Aragorn seemed to have recovered his composure. The twins exchanged silent glances, then excused themselves to bathe. When they were gone, I turned to Aragorn.

“I apologize if I upset you, meldir, but I have always had trouble washing my own back.”

“I am the one who should apologize. I know the ways of Elves…” he trailed off.

“Estel, I am not asking, and I will not ask, you to be what you are not. I do not deny that I find you attractive, but that is my responsibility and mine alone. Yours is to decide what you want to do about it.”

“I… I… do not know what to say.”

“You do not have to say anything, meldir, if you do not want to, but you only ever have to say no, and I will listen.”

“And if I do not say no?”

“Then I shall endeavor to convince you to return my feelings, of course.”

“Of course,” Aragorn said, swallowing convulsively. He was silent for a few minutes, his gaze settling everywhere but on my face, before it landed on my bandaged hand. He reached for me, then jerked his hand back. “Your bandage is wet,” he mumbled nervously. “I should change it.”

I offered my hand willingly. “You do not have to ask if you want to touch me, Estel. I do not mind. Come, change the bandage, nestadren nín.”

He removed the wet bandage, applied a healing salve and wrapped it anew. As he did, I felt the same tingling I had felt when Arwen had tended another cut so long ago. The hands of the King are the hands of a healer. Of course, I did not know then that he was destined to be King. “You have a healing touch, nestadren nín,” I told him.

“Ada trained me himself, rather than leaving it to the other healers,” Aragorn told me.

“Your Ada is a wise Elf,” I replied. “You will be glad of his teachings.” Neither of us knew then how glad he would be.

“I already am,” Aragorn responded. I smiled at that earnest response.

The twins returned before we could speak more, but the time alone had cleared the air of tension somewhat. Aragorn still had to decide what he was going to do since I had declared my hand, but at least he knew where I stood. He offered to take first watch, and I volunteered for second. I quelled the twins’ protests with a sharp glance before they could even utter them. I had plans, and I was not going to let Elladan and Elrohir keep me from fulfilling them.

As they had the night before, Elladan and Elrohir arranged their bedrolls together. I lay down on the opposite side of the fire, leaving Aragorn sitting with his back to us and the fire as he stood watch. Much to my surprise, I slept while waiting for my turn on watch. Though I had not slept the night before, the evening’s conversation with Aragorn had left me energized. I had fully expected to stare at the stars until it was my turn on watch.

Aragorn woke me when it was my turn, and I offered him my bedroll, since it was already arranged by the fire. He looked surprised, but I suggested he retrieve my extra blanket for me, assuring him I would be warm enough.

I stood my watch for the allotted time, surprised at how much the temperature dropped. The twins, wrapped up together, were shivering a little. Even with both our bedrolls, Aragorn was shivering quite a bit. I fed the fire and woke Elladan to relieve me on watch. Silently, I handed him my extra blanket and slipped back into my bedroll behind Aragorn. When Elladan’s eyebrow arched with his question, I whispered, “He is cold, as you will be on watch. I will keep him warm, and you will use my blanket.”

Elladan gave in, leaving me to fall asleep with Aragorn in my arms. I did not know how he would react in the morning, but I would worry about that then.

Elvish translations

Nestadren nín – my healer

Chapter 28

I awoke, as I always did when in the wild, with Arien’s rays. Aragorn had shifted closer in the night, so close that the mist from our breaths mingled in the chill morning air. How I wanted to lean in and kiss him awake! But it was still too soon, especially since he did not know he had slept in my arms. I nudged him gently, watching his eyelids flutter open and awareness return to the depths of his eyes.

“Legolas?” he murmured, voice still husky with sleep. His voice had an immediate effect. I knew I should pull away, let him rise, but the sensation of his firm body against mine felt too good to relinquish so easily.

“You were shivering during the night. I had already given my other blanket to Elladan for the watch. It was the only way I could warm you up.”

He seemed to accept that explanation. “It is quite chilly,” he observed, snuggling more tightly against me. I agreed wholeheartedly and accepted him into my arms. Whatever reaction I had been expecting, I had not expected this one. I was beginning to realize that the confusion at the stream yesterday was not going to be the norm for our relationship. Aragorn was young and innocent still, in many ways, but he was not a pushover. Knowing what I felt and what I wanted, he would make his own feelings and desires known as well. Just then, that appeared to be sleeping in my arms, for, as I had pondered his reaction, he had fallen back asleep. I decided that sounded pretty good to me as well, since we were not going to travel until my hand healed anyway. We could spend the day relaxing.

When we finally left our bedrolls, Arien had risen well above the horizon, and it had warmed up enough to be tolerable. I watched Aragorn carefully to see if he gave any sign of being uncomfortable with our having shared bedrolls, but he seemed as unperturbed then as he had when he first awoke, which was encouraging. I cast around for a way to spend the day with him and, preferably, without the twins. What did the twins not like to do? Climbing. The twins hated heights, and we were camped at the base of a cliff. If I could persuade Aragorn to climb it with me, we could spend the day exploring the woods, and this attraction, without them. I flexed my hand. It felt much better than it had the night before. It would not keep me from climbing.

I stepped out from under the overhand and peered up at the cliff. It was steep, but not completely vertical. Climbing it should not be too difficult. Unless, of course, one was cursed with a fear of heights.

“I wonder what is up there,” I said to no one in particular.

Elladan and Elrohir took one look at the ascent and promptly denied any interest. Aragorn, however, looked curious.

“Do you think we can climb it, Estel?” I asked.

“Maybe. What about your hand?”

“My hand feels much better this morning, nestadren nín. I can climb. If you are up to it,” I challenged playfully.

Aragorn’s eyes flashed as he accepted my challenge. I pulled on my boots, slung my bow and quiver over my shoulder just in case, and gestured for him to precede me. He climbed with the same agility he had displayed while fighting. I admired his agility even as I was admiring his backside, displayed enticingly by the shifting cloth as he moved. When I could follow him without having to worry about being kicked in the face, I began my own ascent. 

The first section was the steepest. Once we were about halfway up, we were no longer climbing so much as we were scrabbling up the slope. That was fine with me, for I have the light steps of the Elves. Aragorn found the going much harder, his boots slipping on the loose dirt and leaves. Several times, I ended up with a handful of that tight body as I caught him sliding backwards towards me. The first time, my hand just touched his back, steadying him. The second time, I caught him sooner, with my hand just a little lower, not quite cupping his backside, but low enough to feel firm muscle. The third time, I let him slide all the way into me, steadying his body with my own. Perhaps I imagined it, but he did not seem in such a hurry to pull away that last time. I hoped that meant he was getting used to my touch. We reached the top of the ridge without further incident, much to my disappointment. We followed the ridge for twenty minutes, hoping to reach a point where we could see out over the valley.

We had just about given up, were in fact talking about turning back, when Aragorn saw a break in the tree line ahead of us. We made our way there, to find exactly what we had been looking for. The ridge ended in a small outcropping of rock, jutting out far enough to give us a clear view of the entire valley. Entranced, I sank to the rock and motioned for Aragorn to join me. I closed my eyes for a moment, appreciating the sun on my face, the gentle breeze that dried the sweat from the climb, even in the cool air, the sound of the stream where we had bathed the night before, the smell of the woods and the faintest salty tang that I realized was Aragorn’s sweat. It was not offensive at all, just unfamiliar. I heard him settle beside me as I sat there with my eyes closed. I opened them again, gazing first at the beauty of the valley, just beginning to flower with spring. Then I turned my gaze to the beauty at my side, and all else paled in comparison.

I do not know how long I stared before Aragorn squirmed uncomfortably under my gaze.

“Why do you stare at me like that? Am I so strange to you?”

I almost laughed. Until I realized he was serious. “I appreciate beauty in all its forms, Estel. And I have been known to stare at something I find beautiful for hours on end. It is true that we are different in some ways,” and I reached out to brush the tips of my fingers over his beard, “but those differences do not keep me from appreciating your beauty.”

“I am not beautiful,” he mumbled, even as he shivered under my gentle caress. “I am thick and graceless. You did not stumble once as we climbed, and I could hardly keep my feet.”

I began to see the problem. Aragorn had grown up surrounded by Elves, and I knew better than most the beauty of the Elves of Imladris. No matter how he tried, he could never compare to them, but for me, it was not a matter of comparison. His beauty was his own.

“Would you compare a rose to an oak tree, and find the oak lacking because it has not the delicacy of rose petals?” I asked.

“Of course not,” he answered.

“Then why compare yourself to the Elves when you are not one of them? You have a different kind of beauty, Estel. I am not so blind that I cannot appreciate it.” Once more, my hand lifted to his face, cupping his jaw in my palm, feeling the tickle of his beard as I ran my thumb along his lower lip. “Will you let me?”

“Let you do what?” Aragorn asked apprehensively.

“Appreciate you.”

Elvish translations

Ad – again

Hannon chen – thank you

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Pen-velui – beautiful one

Chapter 29

Aragorn blinked once, then again, a stunned look on his face. I could see the reflexive movement of his throat as he swallowed convulsively. I waited patiently, hand still on his cheek, for him to decide. The moment stretched, the silence as taut as my bowstring, but I did not pull away. I would not do more than just touch his face without his permission, but neither would I pull away unless he asked me to. The silence continued, and still, he did not respond. Just when I was sure we had reached an impasse, his eyes closed, and he nodded, slightly, so slightly I might not have seen it if my hand had not been against his cheek.

Relief and desire surged through me, but I tempered my outward response. Slowly, I rose up onto my knees, tipping his head back as I did, giving him one last chance to stop me, but his eyes remained trustingly closed. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his, a chaste, gentle kiss that in no way reflected the tumult inside me. He did not pull away so I kissed him again, a little more firmly. I had tried to imagine how his beard might feel against my lips, but my imagination had failed me. It had not prepared me at all for the tickle of his moustache, nor for the soft scratch of his beard against my chin. It had also not prepared me for the silken firmness of his lips as they gave under mine, just the barest hint that he was returning the kiss.

A detached part of my mind pointed out that this had to be the chastest kiss I had experienced in two and a half millennia. Certainly, the kisses Arwen and I shared had not been this innocent since the day she kissed me by the waterfall. Unlike that kiss, though, I was in charge of this one, and I was not about to go running away before I saw the result. I moved back, just an inch, and waited for his eyes to open. For several seconds, they did not, and he hung there, face between my hands, eyes closed, the picture of wanton invitation. Then his eyes opened, and I saw a hunger there that matched my own, but it was a hunger still tinged by reservations, if not by actual fear.

“Ad, pen-velui?” I asked, letting the choice be his.

“Aye,” he whispered in reply. To my surprise, he did not wait for me to lower my head, but rose up of his own accord to meet my lips. I slackened my control a little, letting him feel more of my passion. When he did not back away, I flicked my tongue over the seam of his lips. He gasped. I was so tempted to press my advantage, to invade his mouth, but I knew his gasp was reaction, not invitation, so I forced myself to wait. If all I had wanted was a quick tumble on a spring morning, I would have deepened the kiss and overwhelmed his senses. I could have done it. I knew where and how to touch in order to seduce him. But I wanted more, and that required the establishment of trust. When I had given him time to recover, I did it again, just a quick lick and then retreat. I wanted him to come to me. When my tongue snaked out a third time, I found his lips parted, waiting for the caress. That was what I had been waiting for. I claimed his mouth with mine, reveling in the sound he made in his throat.

Then I broke the kiss and leaned back against a tree on the edge of the point. Aragorn looked perplexed.

“Why did you stop?”

I patted the rock in front of me, “Come here, pen-velui.” He came and sat between my outstretched legs, back pressed against my chest. “I am not playing games. Do you understand that, Estel? I am not looking for amusement. You barely know me, nor I you. If all I wanted was release, I could take care of that myself. I want to know you. What you like. What you dislike. What makes you laugh or cry, what makes you angry. I want to discover where you like to be touched, and how. I want to take my time cherishing each discovery. And I want you to know those things about me. There is no need to rush.”

He subsided against me. “What was it like growing up in Rivendell?” I asked both to take his mind off the still simmering desire between us and because I was truly curious. I really did want to know everything I could about him.

I listened as he talked of Elrond and the twins, of his mother whom he obviously adored, of lessons with Erestor and, later, with Glorfindel. I wondered a little at some of the things he had learned, but I was not about to question Elrond’s wisdom. When he reached the end of one story, I would ask a question that would lead to another. From time to time, as he talked, I nuzzled his neck and pressed little kisses to the curve of his ear, so very different from my own. The rest of the morning passed in comfortable camaraderie. Arien was directly overhead when I heard the faint rumbling of Aragorn’s stomach. I had not picked up any lembas, nor had he, and we had an hour’s walk back to camp. Aragorn rose and offered me his hand. I took it, letting him pull me to my feet, but I did not release it until we reached the spot where we would start our descent, making our way carefully down the path left by our climb. 

The twins were not in camp when we arrived, but that was not surprising. They had never enjoyed sitting around doing nothing. Aragorn and I ate, then Aragorn decided that he needed to check on my hand. There was no blood on the bandage, but Aragorn was ever the healer. I was surprised when he unwrapped the dressing at how much my hand had healed. I had not healed this fast away from Arwen since I had fallen in love with her. I shivered, though not in pain, as Aragorn took my hand to examine the cut, and understood. My developing feelings for Aragorn were giving him the same power to heal me as Arwen had. 

“Your hand looks much better today,” Aragorn commented. “I do not think we will need to wait three days.”

“You have healing hands.”

“Ada thought I had something of the gift of healing, though it is rare among Men. That is why he insisted on teaching me himself.”

“I am most fortunate, then. Perhaps we should not tell your brothers how fast I am healing. I was looking forward to the rest.” My smile was an invitation to collusion. 

He returned my smile. “What they do not know…”

“Indeed.”

Aragorn smoothed a healing salve over my hand and applied a fresh bandage. I thanked him with a kiss. 

“I talked all morning. Tell me about your home,” Aragorn requested. So I did. I talked about Mirkwood before the arrival of the Shadow, of how it had changed. I told him about my father who, I insisted, was not the unreasonable Elf that stories made him out to be. “I knew that already,” Aragorn interrupted. “Ada made sure I knew the truth about King Thranduil.” I wondered what Elrond considered truth about my father, considering that they were not exactly friends for many centuries, but I did not comment. Relations between the two had improved greatly since Celebrían’s departure, so perhaps Elrond could give a mostly unbiased account of my father.

I told Aragorn everything he wanted to know. I even talked of my relationship with Arwen. I just neglected to tell him the exact nature of my feelings. It would hardly help my cause for him to think he had no chance with me because I was in love with Arwen. I could still not explain to myself how I could love both of them. I knew I could not explain it to him.

We were still talking, reclining side by side against a log, when the twins returned to camp. They had gone hunting again, bringing back a brace of coneys that they promptly gave to Aragorn. I knew better than to offer to cook, but I did offer to help clean and prepare the meat. Aragorn agreed to my help. I rose from my place and went to get my knives, one hand trailing across the back of Aragorn’s neck as I walked by. He shivered under my touch, a most gratifying reaction. Elladan caught the gesture, and Aragorn’s response, and raised an eyebrow at me. I just smiled as I returned to Aragorn’s side, knife in hand. 

When we had finished preparing the meat, I left Aragorn to cook, heading toward the stream to clean my knife and my hands. Elrohir followed.

“You appear to have made progress since last night,” Elrohir commented as I knelt beside the stream.

“Do you comment on every aspect of everyone’s courtships or only on mine?” I asked coolly.

“You are courting my brother.”

“Aye, and I am doing so with his permission and cooperation, Elrohir. He does not need a keeper and would not appreciate it if he thought you were interfering. I told Elladan, I told Estel, and I am telling you. I will not do anything that Estel does not want me to do. And today, I did less than what he would have accepted.”

“Díhena nin, Legolas. I just do not want to see him hurt.”

“That is the last thing I want to do.”

“I know. As I said, díhena nin.”

I accepted his apology, but still, the implication that I might take advantage of Aragorn’s innocence stung, especially after I had already assured Elladan that I would cherish the gift I was being given. I took first watch again, knowing I was in no mood to sleep. I woke Aragorn a few hours later to take my place. As I lay down, I patted the space beside me. “You are welcome to sleep here if you are cold again tonight,” I told him. I paused for a moment. “Or even if you are not.”

Silence greeted my offer. Then, I heard, very softly, “Hannon chen.”

Elvish translations

Maer aur – good morning

Díhena nin – forgive me

Nestadren nín – my healer

Pen-malen – golden one

Chapter 30

Much to my delight, I awoke the next morning with Aragorn in my arms. He had obviously chosen to take me up on my offer, though I did not know for which reason. It did not matter really. He shared my blankets. That was all I cared about. I could just see Elladan’s still form asleep on the other side of the fire. Elrohir was on watch somewhere nearby, but I did not see him. Good. That meant I could indulge my desire to wake Aragorn with a kiss. I rose up on one elbow and gazed down at his sleeping face. He looked so peaceful, I almost hated to disturb him, but the idea of seeing his eyes open already full of desire was too tempting to resist. I brushed gentle fingers through hair mussed by sleep. The texture of it was different from mine, and the difference was still new enough for me to remark on it. I trailed my fingers across his forehead and cheek to his lips. They were soft in sleep, with none of the vibrancy that I had felt in them the day before, even before he returned my kisses. I brushed my lips over his. When he sighed but did not wake, I nibbled gently on his lower lip. That got a more definite reaction, but his eyes were still closed, though I could not tell if he was feigning sleep or if I had not yet awakened him. My lips settled fully on his, then. He awoke with a start, jerking in my arms before he met my eyes.

“Maer aur, nestadren nín. Did you sleep well?”

“Maer aur, Legolas. I slept very well.” Then he surprised me by reaching up for another kiss. Who knows what might have happened next if Elrohir had not chosen that moment to reappear in camp. Aragorn’s body was hot against me in the early morning chill, and his thigh had insinuated itself between mine, rubbing my groin provocatively. I had always prided myself on my control, but that might have been enough to break me if not for Elrohir’s interruption. Though I muttered curses under my breath, now I am thankful for his arrival. Aragorn deserved to be courted, to be wooed, not to be taken in a fit of early morning passion. At least not the first time. I rolled away from him and rose.

“I will watch until everyone wakes if you want to sleep a little more, ‘Ro,” I offered. Elrohir declined, but settled companionably beside me near the fire. We did not speak, content to let the breaking day wash over us. I paid attention, as we sat, to the place where Arien was rising. I pictured the point from the day before in my mind’s eye, trying to see if the sunrise would be visible from there. I decided it would be. All that remained was to convince the twins to let me take Aragorn there alone for the night. That meant talking to them, or at least one of them, since they could always talk to each other, alone. I would see what opportunities presented themselves later.

After a quick breakfast, Aragorn suggested following the stream to see where it led. His suggestion was directed at me, and I did not include the twins in my answer. I saw the look they exchanged as we set out alone, again, but they said nothing. The woods had been so quiet since our arrival that I left my bow at camp, carrying only one of my long knives.

We wandered upstream, walking at a leisurely pace. I alternated between watching the incredible variations in the forest in front of me and the incredible beauty of the man beside me. Despite his comments about the gracelessness of Men, I saw nothing but grace in his ground-eating stride as we walked, the strength in his legs, the power restrained by our slow pace but evident nonetheless. We came around a bend in the stream to an area of gentle rapids, but what caught our eye was not the water but the play of the light. The early morning mist had not cleared completely, and we could see individual rays of light as they broke through the overhanging trees and penetrated the mist. Aragorn reached for my hand as we stopped and admired the play of light and shadow, mist and water. I lifted his hand to my lips as we stood there silently, pressing a gentle kiss into the palm of his hand. We moved on eventually, by unspoken accord, but we did not speak for many minutes after we left the magic of that grove.

We heard the unmistakable sound of a waterfall as we continued along the streambed. We hurried forward, eager to see what other surprises this little stream had in store for us. We found it a few minutes later, a delicate tumble of water from a ridge high above into a small, deep pool, surrounded by large boulders. I jumped up easily to the top of the one nearest the waterfall, feeling the light spray on my face. I turned from my perch and extended a hand to Aragorn. He took it, and I pulled him up onto the rocks, into my arms. The momentum of the climb brought his body fully against mine, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. I could not resist. I tilted my head and kissed him, threading my fingers into his hair. His arms came around me as he returned the kiss, hands settling on my shoulder blades. As the kiss deepened, his hands tightened on my tunic, fingers digging into my back. I kept my touch in his hair light, not wanting to stretch his limits. Better to let him set the pace. My instincts paid off when one fist loosened and his hand wandered shyly down my back to my hip. The hesitant caress was incredibly potent, more so for the trust it implied. A few seconds later, the other hand made its way to my buttocks, holding me tightly against him. I could feel the effect the kiss was having on him as he pressed against me. When I felt my own control slipping, I broke the kiss. 

We settled on the rock to eat the lembas we had remembered to bring for lunch that day. We talked idly, as we had the day before, sharing stories of our experiences in Imladris and elsewhere. I began to get a clearer picture of Aragorn as we talked, but it was a picture that continuously surprised me. I knew nothing of his lineage, then, so I did not understand why this young man knew so much about the Last Alliance or the history of Gondor. He knew more than I did about many events that had occurred even within my lifetime. In retrospect, I understand why Elrond insisted he study these things, but at the time, they were one more mystery that I could not begin to solve. I also realized that Elladan had told me truly. Outside the realm of our courtship, Aragorn knew what he was doing and had the determination to do what needed to be done. I wondered again what purpose his mother had sought to serve in keeping him so ignorant in this one area. After all, he was above the age of his majority and would soon be looking to take a mate. I did not know then that he was of the blood of Númenor and would outlive the great-grandchildren of his contemporaries. I pondered my companion’s unusual childhood so long that he noticed my distraction.

His hand on my cheek brought me back to where we were. “You are far away, pen-malen.” The endearment surprised me more than the caress. Aragorn had only called me by name prior to that moment.

“Díhena nin. I was lost in thought.” I glanced at the angle of the light coming through the trees and estimated the time it would take us to walk back to camp. We needed to be leaving if we were to return before supper. I said as much to Aragorn who looked disappointed at the idea of leaving, but I could see him checking the light as I had done. He knew I was right, and so made ready to leave. We walked back at a brisker pace than we had set on the way out, making it back to camp in good time. 

The twins had been hunting again and were covered in blood. Aragorn and I were sweaty from our hike so we all returned to the stream to bathe. I would rather have waited, thus having Aragorn to myself, but the light was fading and the temperature dropping again. We needed to clean up before it got too cold, especially for Aragorn. My offer to wash Aragorn’s back was again refused, but he offered to wash mine rather than waiting for me to ask. His touch was less hesitant, but he did not in any way take advantage of the situation, whether because he did not dare or because his brothers were nearby, I do not know.

Aragorn took first watch again that night, the twins preferring the morning watches. He woke me with a kiss when it was my turn. It was all I could do to get up and take my watch, rather than pulling him onto the bedroll beside me and ravishing him. 

Much to my delight, he rolled over when I woke Elladan and lifted the blanket in invitation. I settled next to him on the bedroll and felt him draw me into his arms before I had the chance to pull him to me. It appeared I was definitely making progress.


	7. Chapters 31-35

Elvish translation

Gwador – brother (sworn, not blood)

Chapter 31

Aragorn had apparently appreciated my method of waking him so much the day before that he decided to try it on me the next morning. I woke slowly from dreams of him to the reality of him. The dreams had been wonderful, since there was no need for control in dreams, but the reality was even better. Warm lips, soft beard, blue eyes that gazed into mine, darting tongue that was as arousing in its absence as in its presence as I waited for it to return. I responded to the kiss but left Aragorn in control of it. As much as I enjoyed kissing him, letting him kiss me was also incredibly arousing.

Breakfast finished most of our remaining meat, and we idly discussed the need to hunt, but none of us really wanted to expend the effort. When Elladan suggested an archery contest, winner to select a prize, though, we finished eating quickly and set up a target. 

I knew what the twins’ abilities had been when we fought together after their mother’s capture, but that was over four hundred years past. They had not been idle in that time, and I was sure their skills had improved. Aragorn’s skill with the bow was a complete unknown. I doubted that he could beat me, and I was not about to let him win, so I had great hopes of winning the prize. I knew exactly what I would claim if I won.

When we began the first round, I realized that this would not be the easy task I had imagined it. The target was set at mid-range and every arrow we loosed landed dead center. We moved the target back and fired again. I watched my fellow competitors more closely, analyzing form, looking for weakness. Elladan shot first on the second round, with fluid, deadly accuracy. His arrows all found the target, but one was on the outer edge of the center circle we had marked. Though the distance was well within his range, and while his arrow would have been perfectly deadly in battle, it was points off if any of the rest of us could get all our arrows in the center. Elrohir followed his twin to the line we had drawn in the soft loam. He fired as smoothly as his brother, without the slight mishap, edging ahead of Elladan in the competition.

“Good job, ‘Ro,” Aragorn commented, stepping up to the line. His stance exactly matched that of the twins. I could see the fine hand of Imladris’ archery master in all three of them. Aragorn squinted, just a little, before he fired. Perhaps it was nothing, but it made me wonder if mid-range for Elves was reaching the limit for Men. Still, he landed all of his arrows on target. That left me. I moved into position and fired as rapidly as I could without risking my accuracy. The four points embedded themselves in the target, each point touching the one next to it. I heard a startled gasp from beside me as I finished shooting. Then I realized Aragorn had never seen me shoot before. He had benefited from my arrows the day I met him, but he had not watched me, his attention being taken up with battle. Half-jokingly, he threw up his hands in surrender. “I yield.”

“That takes all the fun out of the contest, Estel,” I chided. 

“For you, maybe. For me, it just means avoiding humiliation.”

“Yet your arrows also hit the center of the target,” I replied.

“In three times the time.”

“Speed is only important if you do not sacrifice accuracy.” How well and bitterly I recalled those words many years later when I sacrificed accuracy and did not bring down my prey. How many Elves died because I did not follow my own advice? That day, though, was still more than sixty years in the future. “Say you will shoot at least one more round. After all, Elladan is not giving up, and he is behind.”

Aragorn reluctantly agreed, and we moved the target back again. Elrohir fired first this time. Two of his arrows hit dead center, one hit the edge of the center, and the fourth missed the target completely. He claimed to have been bitten by an insect, but it was too early in the year for mosquitoes. Elladan redeemed himself in the third round, hitting the target with all four arrows, though not all in the center. When it was my turn, I made a point of taking my time. I wanted to win, but I did not want to so intimidate Aragorn that he would give up. I still hit the target dead center, but at least I did not show off doing it. Aragorn’s arrows, likewise, all hit the target, but only one was in the center. When Elrohir proposed moving the target again, Aragorn said, “You have reached the limit of my sight. I cannot shoot if I cannot see the target. There is no need to prove to you that mortal eyes see less than Elf eyes.”

“We will shoot one more round without you then, gwador. I doubt we can beat the Sinda there, but we have to give it a try,” Elladan replied.

“You can try,” I retorted, “but you have yet to succeed.”

They moved the target and made me shoot first. I aimed carefully. I did not want to ruin any arrows by having the tip of one hit the shaft of another, but I also wanted to make my point. I had fired three times, all three perfectly placed, when movement in the woods caught my eye. Without pausing, I pivoted and fired, the arrow piercing the hide and the heart of the deer that had come, unsuspecting, upon us. The twins tried to claim that I had missed the target with my fourth arrow, but Aragorn came to my defense. “We have dinner because of him and you would disqualify him? Let him shoot again.”

If it had just been me, they probably would have refused, just to say that I had “missed,” but they gave in to Aragorn’s demand. The fourth arrow landed, as the others had, exactly where I wanted it, forming a perfect ring in the center of the target.

Elrohir’s first arrow landed in the center, but the second only caught the edge. “I yield,” he said, giving way to his twin.

Elladan managed two perfect shots before missing, beating his twin, but not me.

“To the victor go the spoils,” Elladan announced graciously. “And what does the victor claim as a prize?”

“A kiss,” I answered, walking to where Aragorn stood. His jaw dropped when he heard my reply, but he did not demur. I had every intention of dropping a gentle kiss on his lips and backing away, given that we had an audience. That resolve lasted until my lips met Aragorn’s and he flicked his tongue out to taste me. All resistance evaporated in that moment, every thought fading into the background except one. Kissing Aragorn. I was dimly aware of the twins leaving us alone in the clearing, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered except the man in my arms. The man with the clever hands that were shyly exploring my back, from my shoulders to the tops of my thighs. I let my lips wander from his lips across his beard, over his high cheekbones to his ear. I nibbled along the curve of his ear, expecting a passionate response. Though he shivered a little, it was not what I had hoped for. He obviously did not have an Elf’s ears. My lips drifted lower, catching the patch of skin just behind his ear. That got the reaction I was looking for. His knees buckled, leaving only my embrace keeping him upright. I tightened my grip and sucked gently on his flesh. My wandering lips must have given him ideas, because one of his hands soon found its way to my ear. The delicate, erotic touch made my knees buckle in turn, and we collapsed to the ground in an undignified heap. I looked at him. He looked at me. And neither of us could contain the laughter that broke the spell. I stood and offered Aragorn a hand.

As he took it and stood beside me, he looked at me appraisingly. “I am not made of glass,” he said finally. “I will not break beneath your desire.”

So he had understood my hesitation. “I might,” I replied.

That, he obviously did not understand, judging from the bewildered look he gave me.

“This is all almost as new to me as it is to you. It has been centuries, almost an age, since I have had a male lover. Or a new lover for that matter. I want to do this right. For both of us.”

Elvish translations

Meldir – friend

Peredhel – half-Elf

Chapter 32

He was too tempting, standing there, gaping at me. I forced my attention to the deer I had shot instead. Skinning and cleaning it was just the thing to distract me from this ever-growing attraction, at least until I was under control again. The twins reappeared almost as soon as I set to work, joining me in the task. Aragorn offered to help as well, but with three of us already working, there was no room for another pair of hands. Elladan suggested that he look instead for herbs that might flavor the meat. Aragorn took their suggestion, leaving me alone with the twins.

I waited for a few minutes, until I was sure Aragorn was gone, before I spoke.

“I want to take Estel back to the place we found two days ago to watch the sunrise, and I do not want the two of you coming with us,” I told them bluntly. “What promises do I have to make to get you to agree?”

That shocked them.

They did not answer at first, though I could not tell if they were just shocked into silence or if they were discussing it among themselves.

Finally, Elladan spoke. “You have known our brother for five days, have pursued him relentlessly in that time, and now you want us to leave you alone with him. Planning on finishing the seduction, meldir?” His tone was cold as steel, and meldir was not an endearment said that way.

I rose slowly, trying to control my own temper. “How many hundreds of years have you known me, Peredhel? When have I ever been less than honorable?”

I could see Elrohir trying to figure out how to be the peacemaker. Erestor might have found the words to stop this fight. Glorfindel might have been able to hold us back. Elrond might have frozen us with his sometimes icy gaze. Elrohir had no chance.

“Arwen,” was the only reply Elladan gave.

My hand shot out, grabbing his tunic. “Do not speak to me of Arwen. I love her, and no one will ever take her place in my heart. I told you that before, and I meant it, but I cannot have her. You know that. Despite our conversation many years ago, you have always known it, as have I. I have been faithful to her since her Cuivië, and if any good could come of my remaining faithful, I would, but this is not a test of my resolve. Not a test of my love. This is my life, and I am living it alone. You have a lover, Elladan, one you can share everything with, one you can confess your feelings to. I do not have that, and I. Never. Have. I never will if Arwen is the only one I love. I did not ask for it to happen, but I am falling in love with Estel. And he is curious enough about me to return my attentions. You saw that earlier, though I had not intended it.”

Elladan shoved me back when I finished my tirade. “Aye, I saw. I watched you both lose control, and now you want me… us to let you go off alone. You do not inspire much confidence.”

“You saw us lose control, but we also regained it. Is that what you want, Elladan? For me to promise not to touch your precious Estel? Would that make you trust me?”

“You would make that promise?”

“Not willingly, but if that is really what you need in order to trust me, I would make it. Even if I do promise, though, that does not stop Estel from touching me, something he seems to enjoy doing.” I could tell from his face that Elladan had not considered that possibility. “I initiated the kiss that you saw, but he intensified it. All I planned to do was give him a quick kiss, more to see how he would react to your seeing it than anything else. I would have stopped it there because I do not like audiences. He kept it going.”

“What about a watch?” Elrohir interjected quietly.

I turned on him with the same ferocity I had faced his twin. “Do you think me so blinded by passion that I have no sense left? We will share the watch as we always do. Or, if he is too tired, I will stand watch. It would not be the first time I have watched all night, as well you know. I proved again today, in case you did not notice, that I am perfectly capable of defending myself and those around me. You have fought with Estel for how many months? You know he is capable as well.”

I turned back to Elladan, a little calmer now. “When we talked that first morning, you told me I deserved to be happy. Estel makes me happy. Happier than I have ever been away from Arwen. He cannot replace her, but I do not want him to. What I feel for him is different than what I feel for her, but no less real. No less vital. I love them both, but Estel is the one I might be able to have. Can you accept that? Because if you cannot, then I need to leave before this goes any farther. I have suffered for love once. I do not want to suffer for it again.”

Silence greeted my question, making me sad and angry all over again. “I am going to bathe,” I said. “I will gather my things and go when I am clean. Give my regards to Estel.” I started toward the stream when I felt a hand on my arm. I turned back, hand raised to strike.

“You do not have to leave, mellon,” Elrohir said. “You have asked us to do something very difficult. Give us time to adjust to the idea. We do want you to be happy.”

I nodded curtly. “I am still going to bathe.”

Elvish translations

Cuaren – my archer

Díhena ven – forgive us

Hannon chen – thank you

Kahlesson chen – I trust you

Meldir – friend

Mellon – friend

Pen-vain – beautiful one

Pen-velui – lovely one

Tolo – come 

Chapter 33

I stripped in short jerky movements that would have revealed my anger to anyone watching. Fortunately, I was blessedly alone, with no one to see my discomfiture. Or so I thought. I was so caught up in being angry that I did not hear Aragorn approach. True, he was trained by Elves, but he was still a Man, and only ever succeeded in arriving unnoticed when I was truly distracted. His hands closed over mine as I tugged unsuccessfully at the laces of the undertunic I was wearing. “Easy, cuaren,” he said. “Let me help.”

I submitted, my fingers too clumsy in my anger to untangle the fine laces. When he reached for the hem to pull it over my head, I took charge again. My control was too shaky from the anger to handle Aragorn undressing me. I pulled the shirt off, dropping it on the ground with my tunic before removing my boots. Aragorn looked like he was about to offer to help with the laces on my leggings, but I shook my head. That was not an option unless he wanted to be dumped on his back and taken right there. He might have wanted it, but I had promised him, the twins, and myself, that I would seduce him properly. I had to get Aragorn out of there, before I said or did something I regretted later.

“I am not very good company right now, meldir. You would be better off going to help the twins.”

He saw right through my excuses, as he always did. “You are upset, Legolas. Why?”

“Your brothers annoyed me.”

“They can be pretty annoying at times,” Aragorn agreed. “What did they do this time?”

“Tried to tell me how to run my life,” I muttered. I do not know why I answered. I had decided not to tell Aragorn about the argument. It was between the twins and me, and was not flattering to any of us. Yet I heard myself answering his question.

“You argued with them about me, did you not?” Aragorn guessed.

I tried to deny it, but his gaze was implacable. “Aye,” I replied finally.

“They forget I am an adult now,” he told me. “They still see me as the child they helped to raise. I cannot blame them for it, really, but it is annoying at times. Do not be too angry with them. Ada told them to watch out for me.”

Their Ada could take his plans and his advice and … I struggled to keep my temper under control. This conversation was not helping. I waded into the stream to clean off the blood from butchering the deer. 

I ignored the sounds of Aragorn undressing on the bank. I forced myself to think about anything but the tangle I had landed myself in yet again when it came to my heart. I was almost succeeding when warm arms folded around me and a hot, naked body pressed against my back. “Let me help you,” Aragorn repeated. He took the soap from my hands. With one hand, he undid the braids at my temples. The other continued to hold me in place. I trembled, from the intimacy of his hands in my hair and from the sensation of his skin against mine. When the braids were loose, he worked soap through my hair, lovingly cleaning the long tresses. I relaxed in his embrace, content to let him wash away my frustrations along with the blood. I sank into the water with him, at his urging, to let the current rinse away the soap. His hands had lost their hesitancy as they caressed my back and arms. When he started around to my chest, I knew I had to stop him. It was getting annoying, always stopping, but I still believed he was not ready for the intimacy he seemed to desire. I turned my head and kissed him. “Hannon chen, pen-vain. I feel better, but if you do not stop, I am going to break the promise I made to you.”

He stilled his hands but did not back away. “What promise?”

“To appreciate you as you deserve. If you push me beyond the limits of my control, I will not be able to keep that promise, and I will regret it. Trust me, pen-velui, to set the pace.”

“Kahlesson chen, Legolas.” Three little words. How could three little words, twenty little letters, have such an impact? To know that he trusted me to guide him through whatever we chose to experience together was… humbling. 

Gratifying.

Arousing.

I had to get us both out of this stream before I took advantage of him and his trust. I snatched the soap and finished my bath. “Tolo, we should return to camp before your brothers ruin our dinner.”

That thought was enough to get him out of the stream and into his clothes. We made our way back up the hill to the camp. Elladan and Elrohir had cut the meat into strips for smoking or roasting, but they had not tried to cook it. Aragorn set immediately to that task, leaving me free to glare at the twins.

“A word, Legolas?” Elladan asked, after enduring my silent stare for several minutes.

I followed when he gestured away from the camp.

“What?” I asked curtly when he turned to face me.

“I… Díhena ven. We were out of line earlier.”

I did not reply.

“We followed you to the stream, thinking to talk more calmly, to reach a compromise. We saw you with Estel.”

“You have an annoying habit of seeing things not meant for other’s eyes,” I told him angrily, thinking back to another intimate scene he and Elrohir had witnessed many years ago.

“You did not take the comfort he was offering.”

“I took what he knew he was offering.”

“But not all that he was offering.”

“And I will not take it until he understands.

“We realize that now, mellon. We love our little brother. We only want what is best for him. Can you understand that?”

I could, but it was not for him or Elrohir to decide what was best for Aragorn, and I told him so. “He is so young, Legolas, for all that he has reached his majority among Men. We will always be protective of him, but we will try not to interfere any more. Explore your ridge; watch your sunrise. We will not hinder you.”

“Hannon chen,” I said, a little less curtly. “I would never do anything to hurt him, Elladan.”

“I understand that. Now. Go make your plans, before it gets too dark to climb.”

Elvish translations

Cuaren – my archer

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Pen-velui – lovely one

Yrch – orcs

Chapter 34

Aragorn greeted my proposal, when I returned to camp, with surprise and eagerness. He agreed immediately, leaving the cooking in the hands of his brothers. When they started to protest, he said, “You can cook well enough when you want to. You just do not like it so you make me do it. You will not ruin it.”

He gathered his bedroll and his weapons, as did I. Climbing was a little more precarious with the extra gear, but we managed to make it to the top of the ridge. We retraced our trail from two days before and soon found ourselves back on the point. We gathered pine needles from under the nearby trees to soften our bed for the night, then reclined together on our bedrolls as we watched the sky darken. 

I pulled him into my arms, enjoying having his body pressed against mine. It was a sensation I never grew tired of. I brushed my lips across his hair, then across his lips when he tipped his head up. He reached up for another kiss when I did not continue. I gave him what he wanted, but then tucked his head under my chin, holding him as darkness settled and the first stars appeared overhead. He relaxed willingly enough into my embrace, not breaking the comfortable silence between us.

Out of habit, I had put back on the bracers that I wore to protect my forearms from the sting of the bowstring before we had made our climb. As we lay in the deepening twilight, Aragorn fiddled with the buckles holding the bracers in place. Eventually, he loosened the buckles and removed one of the bracers, fingers trailing lightly across the inside of my wrist as he set the leather aside. I trembled at the soft caress on the incredibly sensitive skin. Aragorn caught my reaction and sent me a delighted grin before taking a firmer grip on my hand and raising it to his mouth. I steeled myself for what was sure to come. 

He kissed my palm first, as I had done to him by the stream in the mist. That, I could handle. My palm was sufficiently hardened from years of fighting with swords and knives to withstand his tender assault. At least, I thought it was. Until his tongue flicked out to caress the calluses at the base of my fingers. Then I discovered that I could not handle much at all where Aragorn was concerned. And when his lips found their way to the inside of my wrist, I thought I had arrived in Valinor. Nothing could have been more perfectly arousing than that moment, lying in the near-darkness, Aragorn in my arms, his lips caressing my wrist. I determinedly ignored my growing arousal, though that did not stop it from pressing into Aragorn’s back. He shifted, just a little, rubbing against me, intentionally or not. I could feel my breath coming more rapidly as he continued his ministrations, but I forced myself to stillness. I did not want to do anything to discourage him from his tender explorations. 

Even with desire coursing through me, I could still sense his innocence. He had no real idea of what he was doing to me, or if he did, it had not been premeditated. This was the kind of torment I was going to have to endure for weeks, I realized, maybe more, because I wanted him to explore. At his own speed.

When he had tortured that wrist to his satisfaction, he pulled the bracer off my other wrist and started on it. I had always known my wrists were sensitive. I had never before realized that they were directly connected to my groin. He was wreaking havoc on my control and did not have any idea how close he was to being pulled beneath me and thoroughly ravished.

When I could no longer sit still, I pulled my wrist away from his mouth and turned his lips to mine. The kiss I gave him was by far the most passionate we had shared to date, though not the most passionate we ever shared. He responded with all the passion his own daring had evoked. When we drew apart, finally, we were both panting. I sat up enough that his head rested against my shoulder. “Look up,” I whispered, pointing to the stars. “There is Eärendil’s star.” We sat like that until it was fully dark. I made vague remarks about sitting on watch, but Aragorn pulled me down into his embrace. I slipped into reverie at his side, dreaming about all the things I wanted to do to his delicious young body.

I awoke once during the night to find that Aragorn’s hand had insinuated itself inside my tunic and was resting against the smooth skin of my chest. That hand against bare skin was all together too distracting, but when I tried to remove it, Aragorn murmured in his sleep and burrowed more closely against me. I gave up and resigned myself to suffering the delicious torment until morning.

When I awoke again, the sky in the east was just beginning to lighten, not pink or blue yet, barely even grey, but I wanted to watch the entire spectrum of change with Aragorn. I roused him from his sleep as I had done before, kissing him, gently at first, then more insistently. I had not considered the hand inside my tunic when I did so. His fingers tightened against my skin, an unintentional caress that was almost more than I could bear in the pre-dawn stillness. He was tempting me, without even knowing it, far beyond endurance. We were alone, the last time we were likely to have this much privacy for weeks, maybe even months. His lips were willing beneath mine, and his body had long since responded to my nearness. It seemed the perfect opportunity to give us both what we so obviously wanted.

His eyes opened, and even in the pre-dawn darkness, I could see the trust that shimmered in his eyes. Ai, Elbereth, I could not betray that trust. I had promised him a proper courtship and a proper bedding, even if I had not used those words. Taking him then, only five days after we had met, could hardly count.

“Wake up, pen-velui. You would not want to miss the show.”

In just the time it had taken for me to wake Aragorn, the sky had already changed from grey to a deep purple behind the ridge across the valley to our left. The stars overhead were going out for another day. As we watched, the colors changed again, becoming first a lighter purple, then pink. The colors had faded almost to white when Arien finally came out from behind the ridge, clothed in all its glory. The trees behind us whispered their delight to me. Delight in a new day. Delight in the lovers who had slept beneath their boughs. I smiled. I did not often hear the trees outside of Mirkwood, at least not without concentrating on them. 

With the sunrise finished, we turned our thoughts to breakfast. We were just about to eat when the murmur of the trees behind us changed. “Yrch!” I shouted to Aragorn as I understood the warning of the trees. Aragorn grabbed his weapons as I reached for my bow and swung the quiver to my back. As I nocked an arrow and drew, waiting for a target to present itself, a distant corner of my mind pointed out that I was going to be bruised when this battle was done. My bracers lay with our packs, where Aragorn had abandoned them last night. It was too late to get them. It was the price I would have to pay.

Seconds later, I could see the Orcs through the trees. I fired as soon as I could make out a specific target, and kept firing. Aragorn’s arrows flew almost as quickly. Fortunately, the pack was small enough that we were able to finish them off before they reached us. Their appearance, however, had taken the joy out of the morning. When the trees whispered again only of squirrels and birds, we lowered our weapons. I rubbed my forearm, trying to soothe the sting. Aragorn noticed.

“Where are…?” Then he remembered, his eyes darting to our packs. “Díhena nin, cuaren. I should have known better than to remove them.”

“Do not worry, pen-velui. They are just bruises. They will heal.” I reached for the bracers and strapped them back on. “We should head back. My hand, as we both know, is long since healed. With Orcs in the woods, we should stay together and move on.”

He agreed and we began the return trip to our base camp. I glanced back at the little outcropping of rock as we left. I was sorry to leave it. It had proved to be the perfect place for the beginning of our relationship. I would have enjoyed fulfilling it there as well, but that was not to be.

Elvish translations

Gwador – brother

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Pen-velui – lovely one 

Chapter 35

We returned to find chaos at the camp. There were Orc corpses littering the ground all around our once pristine campsite. And Elrohir had a strip of bloody cloth bound tightly around his upper arm. Aragorn could not quite suppress a troubled shout when he saw his brother wounded.

“Where the Valar were you?” Elladan asked me angrily as Aragorn began tending to Elrohir’s arm.

“We met up with a pack of Orcs ourselves,” I told him. “The trees warned me before they got to us so we were able to pick them off before they got close enough to do any damage. I take it you got no such warning?”

“Nay. We had no warning. Fortunately, Arien had already started to rise, so they were half blind. Otherwise, we probably would have been overrun. As it is, one of them landed a blow on Elrohir.”

“Is it poisoned?” I asked Aragorn who was putting a fresh bandage on Elrohir’s arm.

“Nay, it is clean, but he should rest.” I noticed that Aragorn looked only at Elladan as he spoke, not meeting my eyes. What was going on, I wondered.

“We cannot stay here,” Elladan contradicted. “The smell of blood will bring every Orc in these woods to this spot before long. We must be gone before they arrive.”

Over Aragorn’s protests, we gathered our gear and cleared the site of our presence, leaving only the bodies of the Orcs to betray our passing. Aragorn walked at Elrohir’s side as we headed south. Elladan thought there was a town in that direction where we could rest for a few days and let Elrohir recover. I noticed, as we walked, that Elladan was watching Aragorn nearly as carefully as Aragorn was watching Elrohir. That seemed strange to me. Aragorn was not wounded. Why was Elladan so fixated on him? Suddenly, I understood. Elladan was watching to see if there was any sign that I had taken advantage of our solitude last night. His concerned gaze annoyed me, but he said nothing so I let it pass.

When we had walked for several hours, I tried to join Elrohir and Aragorn, but Aragorn rebuffed me, choosing to focus his attention entirely on his brother. When he moved away from my hand on his shoulder, I began to get annoyed again. Did nobody trust me?

We made camp early when we found a cave where we could take shelter. One archer or even one swordsman could hold the entrance against any number of attackers. I took first watch, leaving Aragorn to tend his brother. When the time came for Aragorn to relieve me, I was dismayed to see that he had spread his bedroll next to Elrohir’s, on the opposite side of the fire from where I had placed mine. “Estel?” I asked.

“I have to tend to my brother,” came the sullen reply.

I lay down in my lonely blankets, trying futilely to fall asleep. When I heard Aragorn come in from his watch and lie down across the fire from me, I gave up. I heard Elladan rise to take his turn, but I motioned him back to sleep. “I will watch, mellon. I cannot seem to sleep.” Elladan accepted my offer, urging me to wake him if I changed my mind. 

Dawn came, and with it, a chance to speak with Aragorn. “Why are you avoiding me, Estel?” I asked him.

“It is our fault he was hurt,” Aragorn replied. “If we had been there, they would never have gotten that close.”

“And the pack we slaughtered would still be roaming unchallenged. This way, both packs are gone.”

“I did not protect my brother,” Aragorn said in response. He turned away before I could say anything else and spent that day avoiding me as well.

I sat down next to him and Elrohir when we paused for lunch. As soon as I was seated, Aragorn rose and moved away. I gritted my teeth in frustration. 

“Trouble, meldir?” Elrohir asked.

“He blames himself, and, by extension, me, for your injury. If we had been at the camp, you would not be wounded.”

“True, but you killed a pack that would still be alive.”

“I told him that, but he does not want to listen.”

Elrohir smiled. “We warned you that he was very young. I will speak to him tonight. He was happy these past few days. He is not happy now. I can make no promises, except to try.”

I thanked him for being willing to help. We resumed our march in the general direction of the town Elladan wanted to find, but we did not reach it again that night. I watched Aragorn tend to Elrohir’s arm as we made camp. I could not hear what they were saying, but I could tell from their faces that Elrohir was pleading my case. I could also tell that Aragorn was not listening. Again that night, he sought his own blankets rather than sharing mine. I was getting well and truly frustrated by that point. I resolved to have it out with Aragorn in the morning. If he truly no longer desired my company, I would take my leave and travel on my own. I had tarried only to be with him.

The next morning, Elladan and Elrohir disappeared after breakfast, under the pretense of replenishing our water. Aragorn tried to go with him, but both brothers refused. That left him with no choice but to face me.

“Talk to me, Estel,” I pleaded. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

He glared at me for a moment before asking, “Why did you take me back there?”

That was not what I had expected to hear. “I wanted to spend time with you. Just with you. It was a beautiful spot, and you enjoyed it so much when we were there the first time. I thought it would give us the chance to get better acquainted.” I knew I was babbling, but I had not been prepared to answer that question. I wanted to tell him how I felt, but I needed to talk to Arwen first. After all our many years together, I needed to tell her before I made a commitment to someone else.

“Better acquainted?” Aragorn repeated, scorn lacing his words. “Is that what you call it in Mirkwood?” He did not say it, but I understood his implication. He thought this was all about lust, that I had lured him to the point in order to take advantage of him.

That was the final straw. I lost my temper completely. “Is that all you think this is to me?” I roared. “How many times have I stopped, Estel? Have **I** stopped when you would have continued? I have made sure this did not go too far, too fast because you have certainly done nothing to stop or even discourage me. Do not accuse me of that!”

I turned on my heel and stormed off, too angry to even see Aragorn’s reaction to my tirade. As I retreated, I could hear Elladan’s voice over what was surely very sarcastic applause. “Well done, gwador,” he said. Then I was too far away to hear any more. I was tempted to leave then, without even saying goodbye to my friends, but reason won over anger, and I decided against it. If I left with no explanation, the twins at least would feel obliged to track me down just to make sure I was all right. When my temper had cooled enough that I could hold my tongue, I returned to our camp, gathered my pack in silence and waited for the others so we could continue on our way.

We traveled south again all day long, with no sign of any town or village. I began to wonder if Elladan actually knew where we were going, but I made no comment. I had no desire to speak to Aragorn.

When we camped that night, Aragorn approached me nervously. “Can we talk for a moment?”

I nodded curtly and followed him a short distance from the fire. “What did you want to talk about?” I asked, not bothering to hide the coldness in my voice.

Aragorn flinched under my tone but did not back down.

“I said things in my guilt that you did not deserve. Díhena nin, Legolas.”

“You said you trusted me, Estel, but you have not acted like it these past days. I, too, am sorry Elrohir was wounded, but that does not give you the right to strike out at me. We had something precious growing between us. You have struck at that with your distrust.”

“I know I have,” Aragorn said. “I did not understand… You had not said… I did not know what to think.”

“And you did not ask me or give me any chance to explain. You just jumped to conclusions. I thought I was dealing with a man, Estel. I do not want a relationship with a child.”

“I… I will understand if you do not want anything else to do with me. Díhen…” I cut him off with a kiss. When we separated again, he looked at me, bemused.

“I did not say I did not want a relationship with you, pen-velui. I said I did not want one with a child. If we can break you of this habit of trying to read my mind instead of asking, perhaps we will be able to have that relationship.”

“I… I can do that. If you still want me.” His shyness was as appealing as it had been when we first met.

“I still want you, pen-velui,” I promised, pulling him against me and into the first real kiss we had shared since before the Orcs had attacked two days ago. It was two days too long.


	8. Chapters 36-40

Elvish translations

Melethron – lover (male)

Ae syntrea chen – please

Chapter 36

Our days fell into a routine as we continued south, looking for the town Elladan sought, though after the first few days, Elrohir had healed enough that we did not really need to find the town. Still, we continued to look for it, thinking we would enjoy a few nights in an inn, instead of in the wild. We traveled most of the day, eating lembas for lunch, and hunting in the afternoon for dinner. The only variation came if we saw Orc sign. Then we hunted Orc instead of dinner. We would make camp in time to cook if our hunting had been successful, and then we would share the watch. Aragorn and I almost always took the first watches, knowing the twins preferred to sleep first and watch later. Sometimes we watched together, which usually resulted in much kissing and very little watching. If we were sharing the watch, I always spoke to the trees, listening to their conversations, making sure they were not worried about Orcs. If they were not, the watch was more for form than for necessity, and Aragorn and I indulged our senses as fully as we dared. My bracers were usually the first things to go. Aragorn had not forgotten the sensitivity he had discovered during our night on the point, and he would often tease my wrists in an attempt to make me cry out. I would resist for a while, but would eventually give him the little sounds of pleasure that he wanted. Then, I would kiss him senseless, and the play would continue. We were always aware of the twins, asleep on the other side of the fire, a constraining presence whether they meant to be or not. And so while my feelings for Aragorn continued to deepen and flourish, we contented ourselves with the same degree of physical expression, though the intensity heightened as well. It made the days spent walking, when we shared only the lightest of kisses and touches, pure agony, and the nights spent in each other’s arms even worse. Yet I would not have traded that agony for anything, except, after almost two weeks, release.

As we moved south, the weather warmed up, making it unnecessary to share bedrolls against the cold, but unlike the twins, Aragorn and I continued to sleep under the same blankets. We just started shedding layers before sleeping. Where at first we had slept fully clothed, later we often removed our heavy outer tunics, sleeping only in our fine cotton undertunics and leggings. Already, I would wake most days to find Aragorn’s hand clenching the fabric of my tunic. When I started taking off the tunic at night, I awoke to find his hand under my shirt, resting against my abdomen. That was almost too much for my self-control. In fact, had it not been for the twins, on watch and on the other side of camp, I probably would have given in right then. 

A few days later, Aragorn left our watch early, claiming he was tired. It was certainly a possibility since we were both sitting two watches to give us some time alone, rather than each sitting one. I kissed him lightly and promised to join him as soon as the second watch was over. “I will be waiting,” he promised in the sultry voice he used when we were alone. That voice invariably caused all the blood to leave my head and head straight for my groin. Especially when it was making promises. If I woke Elladan a little early for his watch that night, who could blame me? Was it my fault my love was so very, very tempting? 

I slid between the bedrolls and wrapped my arms around Aragorn, expecting to feel the smooth cotton of his undertunic, thinking maybe I would sleep with my hands on his skin instead of the other way around. I found only skin, with no cotton in the way. He woke up enough to murmur, “It was too hot to leave my shirt on.”

Too hot indeed. I thought about the twins nearby. I thought about all my good intentions. Then I thought about that delicious expanse of skin I had admired every time we bathed. And how my fingers had been itching to touch him since the first time I saw him. My fingers won out over my conscience. 

“Do not make a sound,” I whispered. “We would not want your brothers coming to investigate.”

He nodded, and I trailed the back of my hand across his chest. The skin was smooth underneath the dusting of hair. My fingers curled into that hair, exploring the differences in our bodies. Despite my warning to be quiet, he purred, deep in his throat at my touch. What a wonderful sound! I leaned over and kissed him. “Not a sound,” I whispered again, though I relished the thought that I could wring such sounds of pleasure from him. On the other hand, if the twins interrupted us, they might never leave us alone again. Before my fingers found his nipple, I reached up and covered his mouth with my other hand, a reminder of the need for silence. He turned his head and flicked his tongue against my wrist; it was my turn to stifle a moan. I tweaked a nipple playfully, reminding him who was in charge. He whimpered. Whimpered! It was enough to make me tremble with desire. He was so incredibly sensitive to my touch; it was almost enough to undo me. Ever so gently, I bent my head, first to his neck, paying particular attention to the patch of skin behind his ear, then down to his collarbone, tracing the line where sun-darkened skin gave way to a lighter shade. His skin was salty from his sweat since we had not camped near a stream that night, but I did not mind. He shivered against me as my lips moved lower, teasing across his chest, nearing but never quite reaching his flat nipples.

“Ae syntrea chen,” he whispered finally. I gave him what he wanted, what we both wanted. His body bucked as I licked and nipped at his sensitive flesh, but he managed to muffle the cry that I could hear starting in his throat. My hand drifted lower, across the flat plane of his stomach. The hair that so fascinated me narrowed, there, to a thin band down the middle, leaving smooth skin to either side. I explored as long as I dared. When Aragorn began having trouble keeping quiet, I knew we had to stop. I pulled away, turning him so his back was to my chest. I continued to stroke my fingers gently across his skin, soothing instead of arousing. Aragorn protested.

“As soon as we find this town Elladan is taking us to,” I whispered, “I will give you what we both want. Be patient a little longer, melethron.” We were not really lovers, not yet, but we would be. I was sure of it. Then, after I had a chance to talk to Arwen, I would lay out my feelings and ask Aragorn to spend the rest of his life with me. I knew in my heart that he would not deny me. Innocent as he was, he could not respond to me with the abandon that he did if he did not love me. I was sure of it.

Chapter 37

Elrohir watched us speculatively the next morning when Aragorn crawled out of our bedroll shirtless, but Aragorn sent him a look daring him to make something of it. He held his tongue. I wondered how he would react later, when Aragorn and I truly became lovers.

We fought Orcs that day, a larger pack than we had encountered before. They pressed us hard, almost fighting with strategy rather than the mindlessness we usually associated with their kind. Elladan and Elrohir fought, as always, at each other’s backs, with the familiarity of centuries of experience. Aragorn and I tried to do the same, but we did not know each other’s styles well enough and found ourselves separated. For a moment, I lost sight of Aragorn as I focused entirely on the Orcs around me. When I could again seek out Aragorn, the sight that met my eyes froze my heart. He was fending off four Orcs, all trying to circle behind him where they could strike at him unchallenged. I threw one of my knives, stabbing the nearest assailant in the back of the neck, but I dared not disarm myself completely. I sprinted toward Aragorn, convinced I was about to see him cut down in front of me before I ever had a chance to love him. Before I could reach him, he dispatched two more of his assailants, leaving him facing only one. I began to breathe easier, though I did not slow my pace until the third one fell under his blade as well. Side by side again, we finished off the few remaining creatures, checking with the twins to make sure they, too, were unharmed.

The rush of adrenalin from the battle was still surging through me, along with the lingering fear I had felt seeing Aragorn surrounded. I had tried to be relatively discreet so as not to goad the twins’ protective instincts, but I needed more confirmation that we were both still alive and well than my eyes alone could provide. The twins must have read my intentions in my eyes because they turned away to clean their weapons, giving us that much privacy at least.

My arms locked around Aragorn’s waist, pulling him roughly against me as my mouth descended on his. There was nothing tender about that kiss. It was all about proving we were still alive. Aragorn’s emotions must have been in as much turmoil as mine for his lips and hands were just as desperate as they ran over my face, my back, my hips, grinding against me in need. I was wishing the twins to Mordor, or at least to Imladris, by then, because had they been anywhere else but behind us, I would have pulled Aragorn to the ground and eased our raging feelings in the most physical way I could imagine. As it was, I was limited to this kiss, and the press of his body against mine. We really, really needed to find a town.

With an inn.

And a bed.

I did not know how much longer I could stand the frustration.

I could not say how long we stood, locked in that embrace, lost in each other, in proving to each other that we were alive and unharmed. A discreet cough finally broke us apart, although, from the look on Elladan’s face, it might not have been so discreet. Aragorn cleaned his sword, I retrieved my knife, and we were ready to move on.

I did not touch Aragorn while we were on watch that night. I dared not. I knew if I did, the straining bonds of my control would break. When our watches were over, I woke Elrohir while Aragorn prepared to sleep. I watched in agonized desire as he pulled first his tunic, then his undertunic over his head. I removed my own tunic, because it really had grown too warm for it at night, but I left my shirt in place. I doubted I could sleep next to him, skin to skin, and not take him. My passion had cooled enough since the battle that my preference for a bed for our first lovemaking had reasserted itself, but I also knew that that preference could easily be subsumed again. And while I would enjoy it wherever and whenever it happened, I did not want Aragorn to in any way regret it later.

I removed my boots and started to lie down. Aragorn’s hand against my back stopped me. “Off,” he said, gesturing to my shirt.

“Estel…” I began.

“Off,” he repeated, lifting the hem of my shirt. What was I supposed to do? I could not resist his request so I pulled the shirt over my head. His hands were on me before I could even lie down, running frantically over my chest and stomach, learning me as I had learned him the night before. I lay still, trying to give him this time and still keep my promises to myself. I succeeded for a time, even after he brought his lips and tongue into play, licking and kissing and suckling on my skin. When one wandering hand brushed across my erection, I gave in. I was outnumbered, fighting myself as well as him. With a barely suppressed growl, I rolled him beneath me, forgetting completely about my promises, the twins, everything outside our bedroll. I was reaching for the laces on his leggings, all thought of waiting gone.

“Legolas!” Elrohir’s voice cracked through the silence with all the force of a whip. It was enough to wake Elladan as well. I rolled off Aragorn and lay on the bedroll, panting as I struggled for control.

Aragorn almost snarled at his brother as he sat up. “What right do you have to interfere?” he snapped. “You are not my keepers.”

“Ada told us to look out for you.”

“Ada is not here, and I am not in any danger, but you might be if you do not mind your own business.”

Elrohir did not answer, but the mood was broken. I pulled Aragorn into my arms with a soothing whisper. “Soon,” I promised.

Elvish translations

Melethron – lover

Chapter 38

Fortunately for everyone’s sanity, we found a town the next day. It was not much of a town, more like a village, really, but it had an inn. Aragorn insisted that we stop for a few days. The twins teased him about being a weak Man. He bore their teasing with ill grace, but he did not relent. I stood beside him in silent support when he repeated his desire to spend a few days at the inn. We must have been a shock to the innkeeper, three Elven princes and a Man, arriving unexpectedly at his little establishment, but he recovered quickly.

“Rooms for ye, good masters?” he asked obsequiously.

“Four,” Elladan said.

“Three will be plenty,” Aragorn countered, steel in his voice. “We only need three rooms, Master Innkeeper.”

“Three rooms, it is. If ye’ll just follow me, good sirs, I’ll show ye to yer rooms.”

We followed him up the stairs to the landing where he showed us three rooms. Two were next to each other with the third farther down the hall. Aragorn claimed the distant one for us before his brothers could say anything. The innkeeper was obviously surprised, presumably having expected the twins to share a room, not Aragorn and me. I gave him one of my father’s regal stares, and he backed down. The twins, however, were not so easily cowed. They had not stopped us from sharing a room, but Elrohir stood very deliberately at the door as we set down our packs. He was patently not leaving until we did. The thought of spending the remainder of the day in the smoky tavern was not at all appealing, but I did not know what else we could do. 

We settled at the cleanest table in the tavern, but even that was not very clean. Fortunately, the innkeeper seemed to take better care of the bedchambers than of the tavern. They, at least, had been clean. The twins and Aragorn ordered the local ale, but I had never developed a taste for the drinks of Men, so I sat with them, eyeing the other patrons with carefully veiled suspicion. It was relatively early in the day, but the tavern was already half-full, the room hot from the fire and ripe with the stench of unwashed flesh. I endured the heat, the smoke, the smell, but I could not so easily ignore the leers that one of the uncouth drunkards was casting at Aragorn. I glowered back at the man, but he was so far in his cups that he did not read my warning glare.

“Whatcha doin’ wi’ them Elves?” he asked Aragorn when he approached our table. I could smell the liquor on his breath from where I was sitting. How Aragorn managed not to recoil, I truly do not know.

“They are my brothers and my… friend,” Aragorn answered calmly, indicating first the twins, then me.

“Brothers?” the man scoffed. “Y’ain’t no Elf.”

“Yet they are my brothers,” he replied.

“Doan ye want more friendly company? Iffin ye get m’meaning?”

I did not stop to ask if Aragorn got his meaning or not. I certainly had and I was not about to sit still while the boor propositioned my Estel. The legs of the chair scraped across the floor as I rose from my seat. The twins did not rise, but the knives that they wore discreetly at their waists suddenly appeared on the table, sheathed still but visible. My hand settled proprietarily on Aragorn’s shoulder. “The company he is keeping is quite friendly enough.” The menace in my voice should have been clear to the meanest mind. The villager was oblivious. He started to touch Aragorn’s arm. I caught his wrist in an iron grip, twisting cruelly. I refused, absolutely refused to let him sully my love with his disgusting caress.

The man’s face spasmed in pain. “He is mine, Man,” and the race was an insult. “Keep your dirty hands and your dirtier thoughts away from him.” I twisted his wrist one more time and then threw him away from us. I probably would have gone after him, because I certainly wanted to beat him bloody for daring to defile Aragorn that way, but Aragorn’s hand on my chest turned my attention to him instead. That hand, by itself, was not enough to stop me. The look in Aragorn’s eyes was.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, his words as cold as mine had been a few moments earlier. “Alone,” he continued with a glare for his brothers. He stalked out of the inn and kept going. He was muttering fiercely under his breath as he made his way toward the edge of the village. My hearing was as acute as any Elf’s, but Aragorn had lived all his life with Elves. He knew exactly how well I could hear and was keeping the volume down just enough that I could not pick out his words, only his anger. 

When we cleared the edge of the town and he kept walking, I began to worry. Neither of us were armed well enough to defend ourselves should we come across Orcs or other enemies, but Aragorn continued on, and I was not going to let him out of my sight. We followed the river that ran through the town into the treeline until we reached the base of the cliffs behind the village.

“What is wrong, Estel?” I asked when he finally slowed his pace.

His shriek of frustration scattered every bird within hearing. “Do you think me so incapable that I cannot deal with one, half-drunk Man? Have I not proved to you, over and over, that I can handle myself? What do you mean stepping in that way?”

“Estel,” I said, trying to calm him, “I was just trying to help.”

“Help? You call almost starting a fight helping? I could have brushed him off, refused his invitation without creating a scene. We have to go back there at some point, and every man in that room heard you insult their fellow villager. You are supposed to be the son of a King, a diplomat in your own right. You should know better.”

“You are right,” I answered, embarrassed suddenly by the scene I had created. “I have no excuse. I was jealous.”

“Of that lout? Legolas, what could I possibly want with someone like him when I am with you? But that does not give you the right to interfere. And just when did I become yours? I do not recall agreeing to that.” That cold tone was back.

Apparently, I had made more than one mistake in the crowded tavern. “Last night…” I did not get the chance to finish my sentence.

“Last night was about ownership? Is that what you are telling me? Because I am no one’s property, Prince Legolas. I am my own man, and I intend to stay that way.” 

He probably would have continued his rant for as long as I stood there listening, and he was not going to hear anything I said to counter his assumptions. So I kissed him. That startled him enough for me to tell him, “It goes both ways, Estel. I am yours as well.”

I really did not expect that to end the argument. Aragorn was obviously very upset by what I had done and what I had implied. I honestly expected to continue the discussion. What I got was an armful of Aragorn, kissing me as if he never intended to let me go. “As long as it goes both ways,” he whispered when he came up for air.

Not releasing him, I looked around. We were hidden from the road and the village by the trees. The twins were nowhere in sight or even within shouting distance. The grass beside the river was thick and soft. The waterfall where the river tumbled down the cliffs looked refreshing. It appeared to me to be the perfect setting for seduction. The only thing missing was a bed, but we were both used to being in the wild. We would not miss the bed, wrapped up in each other.

We were both sweaty and dirty from our travel, and the water was enticing. I kissed Aragorn lightly as I reached for the laces on his tunic. “Shall we bathe, melethron?” I said, indicating the waterfall.

He pouted. “Is that all you can think to do when we are here, alone, for the first time in weeks?”

That pout looked too delicious to pass up. I leaned in and kissed him again. “Not all I can think of, melethron, only the first thing. I would not come to you smelling of travel. We have time. Arien will not set for hours yet.”

“And my brothers?”

“Will mind their own business for once. I do not think they could find us now even if they looked. There were too many people in town for them to track us out of it. We can afford to take our time, Estel.”

With the moment finally at hand, I was back in control. I did not have to worry about being interrupted and left frustrated again. All I had to do was turn all my passions, all my desires into making this the perfect experience for my love. And that gave me a degree of patience I had never before possessed. Even at Arwen’s Cuivië.

I returned my attention to his tunic. When we had bathed with the twins, we had never undressed each other. That was too intimate to share with others. Alone as we were, I had the freedom to unlac first the tunic, then the undertunic, revealing the skin beneath and the line where tanned flesh gave way to pale. My fingers traced the line from the side of his neck to the sensitive indentation where neck joined chest and back up the other side. He shivered at my touch, as I loosened the belt and let it fall to the ground. The tunic parted all the way to his waist. I undid the rest of the laces and pushed it off his shoulders, letting it fall around his hips to land with the belt at his feet, rather than pulling it over his head. My hands teased his chest through the thin cotton undertunic, tweaking his taut nipples that I could just see pressed against the fabric. He moaned, just a little, as I tugged at the sensitive flesh. I undid the second set of laces, opening the shirt more, revealing the muscled expanse of chest to my eyes and my hands. That contact, skin to skin, brought a deeper moan to his lips. He trembled as I explored again the territory I had discovered two nights before. I traced his breastbone, between the firm muscles of his chest, down to the third set of laces holding his shirt still in place. Rarely did we ever take the time to unlace undertunics fully. It was so much faster just to pull them over our heads, but this was not about fast. This was about anticipation. 

I separated the final set of laces, parting the shirt completely so it hung at his sides. I kissed him then, pulling him against my still-clothed chest, letting the rough cloth of my tunic caress him for me as my hands ran up his back, fingers digging into taut muscle and satiny skin. He buried his hands in my hair, pulling me deeper into the kiss, trying to assert some control of the situation. I let him. 

He took full advantage of my stillness to nibble at my lips as one hand began attacking the laces on my clothes. He had not the patience to remove them slowly, breaking the kiss to strip tunic and shirt over my head as soon as the laces were loose enough to permit it. Then his fingers started on the laces of my leggings.

“Boots,” I managed to say between kisses. If he got my leggings around my knees without removing my boots first, I was going to land on the ground in an undignified heap, and that I did not want. He let me break away long enough for me to remove my boots while he did the same, then his hands were back on my leggings, pushing them down over my hips and off. 

I moved behind him before his hands could start exploring my newly revealed flesh. I would let him indulge his curiosity later. When the possibility of my losing control was less important. In the meantime, he was just going to have to keep his hands to himself. My hands were the ones that were going to go exploring. He leaned back into my arms, almost bracing himself against me, pressing temptingly against my arousal, as I slid one hand inside the waistband of his leggings. My fingers curled around his erection, stroking him gently, soothingly. At least, I had intended it to be soothing. He convulsed against me, covering my hand with his seed.

Elvish translations

Aníron chen – I want you

Annorn – harder

Av’malion – I do not care

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Mankoi – why?

Melethron – lover

Ae syntrea chen – please

Tolo – come

Tyaavo nin – touch me

Veston – I promise

Chapter 39

I supported him in my arms until the tremors wracking his body eased. I sank with him to the grass, kissing him in delight at his responsiveness. When I noticed he was not responding, I sat up a little to look at him.

“Estel?”

No response.

“Melethron?”

Still no response.

He would not even meet my eyes. I was growing concerned. What had I done wrong? Everything that had passed between us had led me to believe that he wanted this, wanted me, as much as I wanted him. Had I been wrong? “Look at me, melethron. Tell me what is wrong.”

Still, he hesitated. “Whatever it is, melethron, you can tell me. Ae syntrea chen.”

Finally, he looked up, mortification clearly written on his face. “Díhena nin, Legolas. I could not…” A blush crept us his cheeks as he struggled to finish the sentence. “I lost…” And then I understood. He was embarrassed at his response. At his apparent lack of control.

I pulled him tight against me cuddling him in my arms. “Oh, melethron, you have no reason to apologize.”

“But I wanted to…”

“To what, melethron?”

“To…make love with you.”

I smiled at his innocence. “We did make love, Estel. We are still making love.”

“I lost control!” he wailed, still obviously upset.

I clearly needed to try another tack. “You did,” I answered, letting satisfaction lace my tone. “Do you have any idea how arousing that is to me? That I could make you lose control?” He gave me a blank look.

“But you did not… you have not…”

An idea formed. “Would it make you feel better to return the favor? To make me lose control as well? You did last night, before Elrohir interrupted us. Would you like that, Estel, to push me beyond the limits of my endurance? You could do it.”

That idea apparently held some appeal because the embarrassment left his face to be replaced again by desire. I rose and offered him a hand. “Tolo, melethron, the waterfall is waiting.”

Aragorn took my hand as he got to his feet. I fingered his leggings. “These need to go.”

He stripped off his leggings and followed me into the river. The current was swift where we entered, knocking me against him. Our bodies brushed, naked skin against naked skin. It was my turn to tremble. “See?” I murmured. “You have the same effect on me.” When we reached the pool at the base of the waterfall, the current eased a little, allowing us to stand side by side without bracing ourselves. We moved under the waterfall, soaking our hair and bodies. Aragorn reached for me tentatively, watching my reaction carefully “Tyaavo nin,” I said, giving him the permission he seemed to need. His hand cupped my cheek before trailing down across my chest to my groin, a heated contrast to the cool water still flowing over me. His touch was so light as to be torture. I endured those whisper light caresses combined with the caress of the waterfall for a few minutes, but I needed more. “Annorn,” I pleaded. He looked panicked again. I closed my hand over his and showed him how to pleasure me. He was a fast learner, soon finding a rhythm that had me balanced on the cusp of ecstasy. As he gained confidence, he leaned forward and kissed me. The hot velvet of his tongue against mine was enough to break me. I threw my head back with a shout as I shivered against him, finding release. When I could focus on him again, I saw the earlier mortification and hesitation replaced with smug satisfaction.

The sensual tension between us temporarily abated, we turned to bathing. Of course, helping each other bathe restored our passion quickly. Aragorn stepped into the waterfall to rinse himself clean before plunging into the pool. I watched in open-mouthed desire as he reappeared out of the water. His head tipped back as he slicked his hair back, exposing the line of his neck, curving his body into a delectable arc. That was tempting enough. When he bent to scrub at his foot, I stopped resisting the lure of his body. I dove into the pool, coming up behind him in two strokes. “Aníron chen,” I murmured in his ear, pressing my burgeoning erection against his buttocks. 

“Aníron chen,” he replied, turning in my embrace. I kissed him, then led him toward the shore. I had drawn this out long enough. It was time. We sank down onto the thick grass, bodies rubbing together as our passion reignited. I kissed my way down his body, teasing him with tongue and teeth, as I sought my target. He was fully aroused again by the time I reached his hips. I ran my tongue lightly along the crease between hip and thigh. He spread his legs, giving me unfettered access to his most intimate places. I raised my head, looking for my pack where I kept the oil for my whetstone. It would serve to ease my way. 

My pack was not in the clearing. I had left it in the room in at the inn when we first arrived. That left me with nothing I could use to prepare him. If we had been long-standing lovers, I would have improvised, but I would not risk hurting him, even injuring him. 

“We have to go back to the inn,” I whispered against his stomach as I fought for control.

“Mankoi?” he asked, desperation in his voice.

“I left my pack there. I fear I would hurt you without the oil that is there.”

“Av’malion,” he moaned, thrashing beneath me.

“I will not hurt you,” I repeated. His howl of frustration could probably have been heard back in the village. I pulled away from him.

“Get dressed,” I told him. “We will go back to the inn.”

“And we will finish this,” he stated, implacably as he began to dress. Though I knew it not at the time, I heard the voice of the King of Gondor for the first time that day.

“Veston.”

Elvish translations

Pen-velui – beautiful one

Melethron – lover

Mellyn – friends

Ae syntrea chen – please

Chapter 40

He walked purposefully out of the clearing, my wrist caught firmly in his clenched fist. The closer we got to the village, the faster he walked until we were all but running.

“Slow down,” I told him. “If they see us come running in here like this, they will think we are being followed. We do not want to cause a panic.”

He growled something I did not really understand in response, but it sounded vaguely like, “They can go to Vala, for all I care.” I was gripped by the same urgency, though, and gave up trying to slow the pace. We flew through the streets to the inn. The twins were still in the tavern when we burst in the door. They jumped to their feet at the sight of us, sloppily dressed and obviously flustered. Before they could even open their mouths to speak, Aragorn shot them a narrow-eyed stare that would have frozen any lesser being in its tracks. “Do not interfere,” he ground out, all but dragging me up the stairs. Not that I needed to be dragged. He just happened to be in front.

We burst through the door to our room and stood, panting, as we stared at each other with wild eyes. It was too much for me. I burst out laughing. Aragorn looked at me strangely. I walked to him, still clutching my sides against the giggles, and kissed him. “Look at us, melethron,” I chuckled. “Running through town like a couple of madmen. And the look on your brothers’ faces when we went through the tavern. Estel, I want this. I want you. But not like this. Come here.”

I sat on the bed and held out my hand. He took my hand and sat beside me, a bemused look on his face. “What do you mean, not like this?”

“We were wound so tight, melethron, that we would have forgotten all about why we are really here, doing this. I do not want to just tumble you onto that bed and take you. I care too much about you to treat you like some tramp off the streets. This will be the first time we make love. I want it to mean as much as you mean to me.”

“You promised,” Aragorn hissed accusingly.

“And I will keep my promise. In my own way. Stay here just a moment, melethron. I will be right back.” I slipped out the door, calling for the innkeeper. Elladan and Elrohir were waiting for me at the bottom of the steps, a united front of disapproval.

“What is going on?” they asked in unison. They spoke in Elvish, as we always did when speaking to each other. I could see the concerned, curious looks from the staff and guests as our words flowed past them in sounds they could not understand.

“I thought Estel told you not to interfere,” I answered in the same language.

“Since when do we take orders from our younger brother?” Elladan asked. “What is going on?”

“Do you really want to know?” I countered. When they nodded, I replied, “I am about to arrange a dinner for two, at which point I plan on completing my seduction of your brother. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to discuss our meal with the innkeeper.” I left them gaping at me.

“Master Innkeeper,” I called in the common tongue, “a word, if you please.”

“What can I do ye for, Master Elf?” he replied, bustling forward.

“Dinner for two, served in my room, as soon as you possibly can,” I requested.

“And the other two gentleme…er…Elves?”

“Will have to make their own arrangements. My plans for the evening do not include them,” I said, shooting a cold stare over my shoulder at the twins who were hovering nearby. The innkeeper backed away nervously. 

“’Twill be ready in a moment, good sir. I’ll just be seein’ to it meself.”

I nodded my thanks and turned to go back of the stairs. Two sets of Elvish hands gripped my arms, one on either side. The twins had apparently not seen fit to take Aragorn’s advice. Or mine. 

I was suddenly extremely tired of them. “Make up your minds,” I told them. “First you tell me one thing, then you tell me another. You tell me you want me to be happy, then you stop me from finding that happiness. You tell me you will not interfere, yet you are keeping me from my goal. It is wearying, mellyn. Which is to be?”

“We were worried. Estel was furious when you left. Now you come back, hours later, with no explanation for where you have been or what you have been doing, and Estel is all but dragging you off to bed. How do you expect us to react?”

“By now, I expect exactly the reaction you are giving me, but I really wish you would realize, once and for all, that I am in earnest and that Estel is a willing participant in this. Now, I see the innkeeper with my meal. I would like to go eat it.” I shrugged away from their hands and walked back up the stairs ahead of the innkeeper. I took the tray from him at the door, assuring him I was perfectly capable of uncovering the dishes myself. Despite my earlier words, I knew Aragorn was upset at what he saw as yet another pointless delay. I was not sure of what he might do, and I did not want to scandalize the innkeeper any more than we already had. Aragorn obviously held with Elven beliefs about males in relationship, just as the innkeeper obviously did not.

It was the right choice to make, for Aragorn lay on his stomach, arms folded beneath his chest as he sprawled enticingly across our bed, completely naked. I was incredibly tempted to drop the tray and give him what he was asking for, but I needed to teach him the difference between lust and love. Certainly, I lusted after him. I was not made of stone, and he was so beautifully tempting in that pose. But I loved him even more, and for that reason, I was going to make love to him, not simply sate my desires in his body. I set the tray on the table and joined Aragorn on the bed. I trailed one finger down his spine, from the nape of his neck to the crease of his buttocks. He shivered under my touch. 

“Ae syntrea chen,” he moaned.

“Patience, pen-velui. We should eat, since the innkeeper went to the trouble of preparing us a tray.”

“I do not want to eat,” he pouted, though his eyes said that he was in the grip of a different kind of hunger.

I kissed his pouting lips as I drew the sheet from the bed around his hips and pulled him to his feet. “Then you can sit with me while I eat.” 

Given the state of the tavern below us, I was pleasantly surprised at the quality of the food. I tasted a bite of the beef, then offered a bite to Aragorn. He took it, a trickle of juice escaping his lips. I leaned across the table and caught it with my tongue before it could soil his beard. I licked my lips as I sat back down. “Delicious,” I said. “Beef flavored Estel.” That brought a smile to Aragorn’s face. He slid his chair around so that he sat next to me, sheet clad body displayed to advantage. 

We shared a plate, eating slowly, Aragorn taking his cues from me, copying my actions to draw out the tension between us. He was trying to be seductive. I had to give him that. And he was succeeding more than I let on. I could feel my leggings growing tight again beneath the table. When the plate was finally empty, we left the table and adjourned to the bed. I thought wistfully of Rivendell, of the beautiful rooms there and how much more fitting a setting they would be for this act of love, but Rivendell was leagues away. Then I focused on the man in front of me, and all the rest fell away. I forgot that we were in a cheap inn in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. I forgot the noisy, smoky tavern below. I forgot the innkeeper with his disapproving eyes, the twins who could not decide whether to encourage or discourage. I forgot everything but my love. My lover. My heart and my soul.


	9. Chapters 41-45

Elvish translations

Melin chen – I love you

Aníron chen – I desire you

Echathon veleth enni – I will make love to you

Pen-velui – beautiful one

Nach vain – you’re beautiful

Melethron – lover

Chapter 41

I took him in my arms as we reached the bed. I leaned forward and kissed him, slipping my tongue between his lips. He returned my kiss passionately. I pulled back to meet his eyes. “Now we finish it, pen-velui.” I supported his weight as I lowered him to the bed. He looked so delectable, lying there beneath me.

“No more interruptions?”

“No more.”

“No more delays?”

“No more. Echathon veleth enni.”

“Ae syntrea chen,” he replied. “Aníron chen.”

“Aníron chen as well, Estel.” I ran my hand down his side, loosening the sheet I had earlier wrapped around his waist. He was everything I wanted, everything I desired in that moment. His eyes were half-closed, but I could see a glimpse of his eyes as he watched me. “Do not move, pen-velui.”

I rose from the bed and undressed in front of him. Then I dug in my pack for the vial of oil whose absence had hindered us earlier. I saw the slightest trepidation in his eyes as I placed it on the table. “I will not hurt you, melethron. Trust me, one more time.”

He nodded, but I could sense a tension in him that had not been there before. He was nervous, understandably. I needed to ease his nervousness and restore the desire that had reigned until a few moments ago. “Relax, pen-velui. This is for your pleasure. Let me love you.” I bent my mouth to the sensitive spot on his neck, behind his ear, that I had discovered the day of the archery contest. As always, the contact drove him wild. I bit softly at the skin, nibbling and sucking until he was writhing against me and I had raised a bruise under his skin. I licked my way down his chest. One hand clutched convulsively at my arm while the other lifted up over his head, arching his back and lifting his nipple to my mouth. I latched onto it, laving it with my tongue. He moaned with desire, the sound sending a fresh influx of blood to my own pulsing arousal. 

When he was totally lost in his passion, I reached blindly for the oil. I dipped my fingers in the oil before trailing one finger down his erection, over the lightly furred sacs to the puckered entrance that waited, untouched, for my penetration. I caught his mouth with mine, distracting him from my probing finger as I caressed him, relaxing the tight muscle before slipping inside. He tensed a little at the unfamiliar intrusion, but did not pull back from our kiss. When he relaxed again, I pushed in a little more, ready to stop if he tensed again. I had promised not to hurt him, which meant taking my time and being careful. To my relief, he did not tense, remaining supple and responsive beneath my lips. I pulled back before thrusting in again. His hips lifted to meet my hand and a hiss of pleasure passed his lips. Then my finger brushed the bundle of nerves inside him and he arched wildly on the bed.

“Do that again,” he panted. I obliged, sending him into another spasm of pleasure. He was so incredibly sensitive. I was humbled by the gift of him. I slipped a second finger in beside the first, expecting a return of the tension, but he gave no sign of anything but pleasure. 

Slowly, I established a rhythm of thrust and withdrawal, taking care to brush his sensitive spot just often enough to keep him on the edge of ecstasy without pushing him over. He caught the rhythm, moving hungrily against my hand. 

I waited until he was crying out, begging for more, before I added one more finger, stretching him wide enough to be able to receive me. He faltered, then, but I aimed for the little nub inside him, setting him afire again, so that he forgot about whatever pain he might have been feeling. 

“Roll on your side,” I instructed, withdrawing my fingers and breaking the silence that had only been broken by his cries of passion. He looked startled. “It will make it easier this time. Trust me just a little longer, melethron.”

He did as I asked, rolling away from me. I stretched out along his back. I could feel the nerves return as I pressed up against him. I gentled him with a caress and a kiss, rubbing his lower back until he relaxed again. I wanted to tell him that I loved him. The words were on my lips, but I did not utter them. I still had one thing to do before I could make that commitment. “Nach vain,” I whispered instead.

“Aníron chen,” he replied.

That was all the permission I needed. I set my shaft at his entrance, brushing against him, gauging his reaction. To my delight, he pushed back against me immediately, his movement causing me to breach him. He froze, the shock of penetration coursing through us both. The ring of muscle spasmed around the tip of my erection, forcing a gasp from my lips. I struggled not to thrust frantically into his hot depths, not wanting to hurt him in any way. I eased inside, inch by inch, stopping whenever I felt him tense, sure my heart would stop long before I was seated fully inside him. Finally, I was there, pressed tightly against him. I rocked gently, testing to see his reaction. When he did not tense, I relaxed my control and thrust into him with more force. He caught the rhythm, rocking back against me, cries of pleasure spilling from his lips. 

When I felt my control fraying, I reached around his hip to grasp his erection, the motion of our lovemaking pushing him into my fist with every thrust. It took only a few thrusts in that position before he shouted in release. His muscles contracted around me, pushing me over the edge as well, and I flooded him with my seed, letting out a hoarse cry of my own.

We lay there, panting, for long minutes before we could regain control of our breathing. I slipped out of him gingerly, not wanting to cause him any discomfort. I got a napkin from the remains of our dinner to clean us up before snuggling back against Aragorn. Melin chen, my heart whispered as we settled in to sleep. My last thought before drifting off was that I was tired of not being able to say the words. ‘Soon,’ I promised myself. ‘Arwen will understand and then I can tell Estel what I feel.’ With visions of a lifetime in my mind, I fell asleep. Perhaps I was naïve to think that it would work, but there were so many things I did not know at the time. I did not know who he really was. I did not know that he was the one Elrond had foreseen. I did not know that I would not even have a year in which to call him mine.

Elvish translations

Nín – mine

Cuaren – my archer

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Pen-velui – beautiful one

Maer aur – good morning

Melethronen – my lover

Ae syntrea chen – please

Chapter 42

When I woke the next morning, Aragorn was still spooned in front of me. I slipped from the bed, pulling on leggings and a shirt. Taking the tray with me, I descended the stairs in search of the innkeeper to order breakfast and a bath to be brought to our room. We had been bathing in streams and rivers, enough to keep clean, but Aragorn would need the warmth of a real bath to ease sore muscles. When the innkeeper promised to deliver both as quickly as possible, I returned to the room to wake Aragorn. I needed to get him sufficiently dressed so as to not scandalize the servants when they brought the water.

When I opened the door, he still had not moved, but his eyes opened drowsily when the door clicked shut. “Maer aur, pen-velui.”

“Why are you awake?” he murmured drowsily.

“I thought you might enjoy breakfast and a bath.” I joined him on the bed. “How are you feeling this morning? I did not hurt you, did I?” I asked, running my hand down his back to his buttocks.

“A warm bath would be nice,” he answered, wincing a little as he shifted on the bed.

“Díhena nin, Estel. I did not mean to hurt you,” I apologized, seeing his grimace.

He sent me a saucy smile. “Are you really sorry, cuaren? I am not. In fact, I am looking forward to the next time.”

That look, those words, melted me where I sat. I leaned into him and kissed him tenderly. “Melethronen,” I whispered. I went to kiss him again when a knock sounded at the door.

“Who is it?” I called in the common tongue.

“’Tis yer bath, m’lords.”

“Just a minute.” I rose from the bed and tossed Aragorn his shirt. “Put that on at least. It would not do to shock the servants.”

As he complied, he shot me a teasing smile. “You do not think they would enjoy the sight?”

“I do not share,” I replied, trying for the same teasing tone, and failing. I wonder, now, if things would have been different later had I not spoken or had I spoken differently. If I had not told him in such specific terms that while he was mine, he was mine alone, would he have altered the relationship between us so completely when he met Arwen?

When he was decently covered, I opened the door to admit the servants with the hot water. They bustled around, setting up the bath, laying out the tray for breakfast. I ushered them back out as quickly as I could. Even with the shirt covering his chest, Aragorn looked far too inviting, lolling there in the bed, for me to want anyone else to see him like that. 

“Would you like a bath or breakfast first?” 

He considered the question for a moment. “Breakfast, I think.” He slid out of bed, his shirt just long enough to tantalize. As if he knew just how tempting he was, with his shirt brushing sensuously against his upper thighs, he walked slowly across the room to the table, his eyes challenging me to resist. Or not to resist. I could not decide which. In the end, I could not resist. I came up behind him and ran my hand up his thigh, cradling one firm cheek. “If you keep parading yourself before me, I will have to give you what you are asking for,” I threatened teasingly.

“Ae syntrea chen,” he answered in the intimate tone of voice he had begun to use when we were alone together. I almost gave in to him. Almost. But last night had been his first experience with another male, and despite his words, I knew he needed pampering more than he needed loving. So I settled him in a chair to eat. When we had finished, he grinned at me lasciviously. “I hope you plan to join me for my bath,” he said, running his hand down my chest. That sounded like the best idea I had heard yet. I returned the grin, reaching for his shirt as he reached for mine. We wrestled our way out of our clothing. Aragorn sank into the still hot water with a groan of pleasure. I eyed the size of the tub and the water level, trying to see if we would in fact both fit. It would be a squeeze, but that would be part of the enjoyment. I gestured for Aragorn to slide forward so I could climb in behind him, but he shook his head, pointing to the water in front of him. “I want to hold you,” he told me and I saw no reason to refuse. I climbed in, relaxing against him in the warm water. He closed his arms around me, holding me close, pulling my hair over his shoulder to keep it out of the water. 

We had been switching roles back and forth over the weeks of our courtship. Sometimes I controlled our play, and sometimes he did. It appeared that this morning, he wanted to be in control. I was certainly willing to let him. After a few moments, he picked up the cloth, his hands stroking over my chest as he played at washing me, toying with my nipples, which tightened to aching buds as he teased them. And me. Oh, yes, I was quite willing to let him be in control. Then his hand slid down to fondle my swelling shaft. I gasped as he proved just what a fast learner he was. His eager hands gripped and shifted, caressing just the way I had shown him at the waterfall. He needed no guidance this time to have me shivering on the verge of release. I withstood his caresses as long as I could before snatching the cloth from his hand and turning it on him, running it over his chest, using it to gently abrade his taut nipples. He arched toward me eagerly, obviously enjoying the caress. I worked my way across his flat stomach, stopping to probe suggestively at his navel before seeking my real destination: the throbbing shaft that had been pressing into my back. That got his undivided attention as I washed him gently, sliding the cloth around his erection, then lower, between his legs to caress the cleft of his buttocks and the entrance that had opened so willingly for me last night. I caught an almost imperceptible flinch at my touch. He was not in outright pain as I had feared, but neither would he be able to take me again so soon. That meant revising my plans, easily enough done, especially when he reached out to stroke me as I was stroking him. There was more than one way to make love.

“We need to retire to the bed,” I told him hoarsely, pulling away from his grasp to stand.

“I do not think…” I knew what he was going to say. He did not think he could take me into him again so soon. That did not matter. I had other plans.

“Did you enjoy last night?” I interrupted.

“You know I did.”

“Then return the favor,” I proposed. His eyes goggled at my suggestion. I led him to the bed and handed him the bottle of oil.

The look on his face was priceless as he stared at the oil, then at me, then back at the oil. I took pity on him and retrieved the bottle from him, pushing him onto the bed playfully.

“We do not have to do this if you would rather not, melethronen. There are other ways of making love,” I reassured him.

“But… it would please you if we… if I…”

Aragorn was such a study in contrasts at that age. Bold one moment, shy the next. I loved him even more, if that was possible, because of it. I never knew exactly who I would be dealing with, the confident Ranger or the timid stripling, though I suspected the shyness would disappear as he became accustomed to the nuances of our new relationship. In every other respect, he had no timidity left. We would learn each other’s preferences in time, and the hesitation would fade. I never stopped loving the bold warrior who eventually won out, but I always missed the shy boy-man that was Estel when I first met him. I kissed him, halting his stumbling words.

“Everything we do together pleases me, pen-velui. Do I want to take you inside me as you took me so beautifully last night? Of course, I do, but only if you want it, too.”

“I…I think I do.” He was too delicious for words, lying there struggling with his desires and his fears. I kissed him again, passionately this time, my tongue mimicking the rhythm our bodies would soon be setting if I could just coax him over his shyness. He responded with the same ardor.

When he was shifting restlessly against me, I again offered him the oil. I could still sense his unease, but he took the vial and uncorked it, coating his fingers with the slippery substance and pushing nervously at my entrance. I would have to teach him subtlety later, but just then, even his untutored caress felt wonderful. I sighed with pleasure as I pushed back against his fingers, driving them deeper inside me, angling so they would hit my pleasure point. 

When he had stretched me to the limits of my patience, I slicked his erection before straddling his hips and sliding slowly down onto him. His hands grasped my buttocks, holding me in place against him. I braced myself on his shoulders and settled in for a long, slow ride. Aragorn bucked beneath me impatiently, but I refused to quicken the pace. This experience was as important as the one from the night before if I was to succeed in establishing a relationship between equals. 

Aragorn accepted my control for a while, but as his own desires built, he pressed his own demands more strenuously, finally using his hands on my aching erection to prod me to greater exertions.

I climaxed in his hand, feeling his own release flood into me immediately, triggered by my contractions around him. Our cries mingled in the morning stillness, and I collapsed against his chest. He held me for a few moments before angling his head to mine, kissing me tenderly.

“Nín,” he said against my lips.

“As you are mine,” I replied. I retrieved the cloth from our bath, using it to wipe the traces of my passion from his hand and his stomach. When I was finished, he took the cloth and returned the favor, running it smoothly over my groin, even probing daringly at my entrance. We snuggled back together when we were clean, craving the tender contact that was as much a part of making love as the joining itself. There seemed absolutely no reason to leave the room. I had the man I loved in my arms. Nothing in Arda could have tempted me to leave our bed.

Elvish translations

Aníron chen – I want you

Gwedeir – brothers

Nach vain – you are beautiful

Pen-velui – beautiful one

Meleth – love

Melethronen – my lover

Panto sina annon – open this door

Si! – now

Chapter 43

Nothing could have tempted me, but Elladan and Elrohir seemed determined to force me – force us – to leave our room. Their pounding sounded at the door while we were still recovering from our lovemaking.

I suspected, from the timbre of the knocking, that it was the twins. The servants, even the innkeeper, would never have knocked as forcefully, but I called out in Westron nonetheless. 

“Legolas, panto sina annon,” came Elladan’s shout.

I looked at Aragorn. “Should we let them in?” I asked.

“Nay.”

“Then you tell them. If I answer, they will probably think I am holding you captive against your will.”

“You have captured me,” Aragorn replied, “but not against my will.”

I smiled. “Tell them, melethronen.”

“Go away, gwedeir,” Aragorn shouted in reply.

“Estel…” The threat was clear in his voice as he pounded again.

“Unless you are planning on knocking down the door, I suggest you go do whatever it is you have planned to do today. We are staying here.”

“Legolas, Estel… panto sina annon. Si!”

“They are not leaving, pen-velui. Do you want to let them in?”

“If we do, they will never leave.”

“They are worried about you. You cannot blame them for that.”

“As if they never had a lover…”

“But this is not about them. This is about you.”

Aragorn sighed. “Very well, but it will be your fault if they do not leave.” He rose from the bed and went to the door.

“Do you want to dress before you open the door?”

“Nay. Perhaps they will take the hint and leave.” Somehow, I doubted that would work, but I was not going to protest having Aragorn walking across the room – or anywhere – naked. It gave me yet another opportunity to admire his golden skin and powerful physique. The twins did not count as sharing anyway.

In a concession to decency, I arranged the sheet around my waist so only my torso was visible. If Aragorn thought that we would have our privacy again more quickly by flaunting our intimacy, I could play along. I reclined against the pillows and let my face reflect the desire I felt whenever I looked at him. “Nach vain,” I told him just as he reached for the knob. As I expected, the compliment brought a most becoming flush to his cheeks. “Aníron chen,” I added as he opened the door and the twins burst in. I would have been hard pressed to decide which was funnier: the lustful look on Aragorn’s face at my words or the look on the twins’ faces at the sight of Aragorn standing naked before them and me obviously naked in the bed.

The heat disappeared from Aragorn’s face when he turned to face his brothers, giving them the same stare that he used many years later on importuning advisors at the court in Minas Tirith. His brothers were more resistant than the advisors, but even they looked uncertain. “What do you want?” Aragorn ground out.

“To make sure you were…” Elrohir struggled to find the right word, diplomat as always.

“Unharmed,” Elladan supplied. It was not the word he had been searching for, if Elrohir’s face was any indication.

“Legolas would never harm me,” Aragorn exclaimed, jumping to my defense. I said nothing, merely raised my eyebrow in amused tolerance.

“That is not what I was going to say,” Elrohir insisted.

“Then what?” Aragorn inquired. “You have seen me. I am here willingly, which you already knew. Stop meddling in my affairs.” He did not wait for an answer, turning his back on them and climbing back into bed beside me. “Shut the door as you leave.” And Elladan and Elrohir found themselves dismissed, as no one except their parents, and perhaps Glorfindel and Erestor, had ever dismissed them. Elladan sputtered indignantly, but Elrohir drew him out of the room, shutting the door as Aragorn had requested.

“Will they ever leave us alone?”

“They just did,” I baited him with a smile.

He chuckled. “Will they ever stop interfering?” he asked, rephrasing his question.

“Ah, that is an entirely different question, pen-velui. They would not meddle if they did not care about you.”

“Do they meddle in their sister’s life as well?” The question was a sudden reminder to me that while Aragorn considered the twins his brothers, he had never met Arwen.

If he only knew how much the twins had meddled in our lives for two thousand years! “Aye. They meddle in Arwen’s life, just as they do in yours. Just as they do in mine.”

“In yours?” He was clearly surprised.

“Of course. We have been friends for many years now. They want what is best for me, just as they do for you.”

“And what is best for you?” That was a leading question if I ever heard one.

“Ech,” I assured him. “No matter what your brothers think, you are what is best for me, Estel. Never doubt that.” He opened his mouth to answer, perhaps to make a declaration of his own. I saw love shining in his eyes as he looked at me. I could not return whatever declaration he was about to make beyond what I had already said so I stopped his words with a finger to his lips. “Do not say it, Estel,” I warned him. “Not yet.”

“Then when?” he asked.

“When I can answer you,” I replied. Before he could ask more questions, I replaced my finger with my lips. He might have protested if I had given him the chance, but he was quickly too caught up in our kiss to care. I could not tell him in words, but I would show him what I felt. Every chance I had. I wanted him again, but this moment was about more than just passion. I held him tenderly against me, trying to infuse my every touch, every caress, with the words I could not say. We lay there, side by side, for what seemed like minutes but must have been hours.

“What holds you back, meleth?” he asked finally.

Meleth. What a wonderful, beautiful word. A word I could not return. One I should not have let him say.

“A promise, pen-velui, made to one who crossed the sea. I promised her that I would watch over her daughter until she found her mate. I cannot make any other promises until I have talked to the daughter. I have to make sure she understands.” I was stretching the truth more than a little, but it was an explanation that Aragorn could understand and accept.

“I would never keep you from your responsibilities.”

“I know that, pen-velui, but I must make sure she knows it. Before I make any other commitments. Once she and I have talked, you and I can talk about other things.”

“I understand that you must talk with her, but why can we not talk of our future now?”

“Because words have power, pen-velui. You know that. If, the Valar forbid, my conversation with her does not go well, I will be in no position to make promises to you. If, by our words, we have made unspoken promises, I would be forced to break them. I do not want to be in that position, melethron. Nor do I want you bound to me if I am not free to return that bond.”

“I would stay even…”

“Do not say it, Estel. I said the same thing to her mother, and so you and I are having this conversation now. When I am free, we will speak of this again.”

“Until then, we can still be together, can we not?”

“Of course we can, melethron. I would never have taken you to my bed otherwise. Even so, perhaps I should have waited until I was free,” I mused.

“Nay,” Aragorn replied emphatically. “You waited too long as it was.”

I had to laugh. “Not by choice, melethron. Not by choice.”

Elvish translations

Melin chen – I love you

Mabo nin – take me

Melethron – lover

Meluin – my sweet

Chapter 44

When we began to grow hungry again, we decided to leave our haven for the public rooms below.

“And if we have a repeat of yesterday?” I asked as Aragorn braided my hair.

Aragorn smiled. “Perhaps today I will be defending your honor,” he replied.

That was not an encouraging thought. “Maybe we should just have a tray brought.”

“Nay, Legolas. The innkeeper will want to tidy the rooms, and I would like to walk through the town.” I reached up as he finished and touched the braids, immediately recognizing the complicated knots of lover’s braids. The villagers would probably not even see the difference, but the twins would understand immediately.

“And what do you expect to find in this tiny little town?” I inquired, not having seen anything of interest upon our arrival the previous day. I gestured for him to sit so I could fix his hair as well.

“Why should I have to find anything?” he countered. “I will enjoy just being outside.”

“Let us eat, and then we can decide,” I hedged.

He agreed, and we descended to the tavern. I gathered my pack, just in case. I kept a close eye on him as I followed him down the stairs, trying to ascertain if he still felt any lingering discomfort from our first encounter. I had been as gentle and as careful as I knew how, but the first time was almost invariably uncomfortable, in the aftermath, if not in the act. I saw no hitch in his step that would indicate a need to worry, which reassured me. I already wanted to make love to him again.

The twins were not in evidence as we reached the tavern, though I did not know if that was good or bad. Seeing that the lunchtime clientele seemed less interested in the ale than they were in the food encouraged me. Since they were eating rather than drinking, I had hopes that we would pass unmolested. We found a table in a corner where we could sit and keep an eye on the entire room without having to watch our backs. Perhaps it was an unnecessary reflex, but as warriors, it was an ingrained one as well.

A barmaid came with our food. Aragorn ordered an ale and watched as the girl stared at me. When she finally turned away to go to the kitchens, Aragorn eyed me speculatively. “She liked what she saw,” he murmured in Elvish.

She was a pretty enough girl, but no threat to Aragorn, and so I told him. Whether he was still feeling insecure because of the lack of words between us or whether he was paying me back for the scene I had created the day before, I do not know, but when the maid returned with his ale, Aragorn’s hand settled possessively on mine. When she still lingered, Aragorn lifted my hand to his lips. I did not try to stop him as I had no desire to spend my time fending off a servant’s advances. I closed my eyes to better enjoy the confident caress – Aragorn had long since mastered the art of making love to my hands – so I did not see him turn his head to seek my wrist, left uncovered because we were in town. Which meant I had not braced myself for that caress. I had, if anything, become more, not less, sensitive to his touch on my wrists, and so had gotten into the habit of preparing myself for his caress there. That day, I had no chance to prepare and the moan that escaped my lips could have left no doubt in anyone’s mind about the nature of our relationship. My eyes flew open as I reacted, just in time to see the reaction of those in the tavern. No one said anything to us, but I easily read disapproval on the faces turned our way. I lowered our clasped hands under the table. “Perhaps we should not make our relationship quite so explicit, melethron,” I murmured. “They do not look as if they understand, and I do not want to be run out of town. Or worse. Were we in Imladris,” I continued, wanting to reassure him, “I would flaunt what we share for every Elf to see,” and indeed the braids in our hair would have already done so, “but Men are not so open-minded as Elves.”

Aragorn squeezed my hand under the table before running his hand up my thigh. He winked at me flirtatiously, then removed his hand and began to eat. I forced my attention away from the sudden wave of passion coursing through me. My lunch was a safer, if much less interesting, point of focus. We had already put on one show for the patrons of the tavern. Thinking about that questing hand on my thigh would only lead to putting on another, something I had no desire to do.

When we finished, Aragorn repeated his interest in wandering the town. I wanted nothing more than to drag him back upstairs to bed, but I gave in to his request. The bed would be waiting for us when we returned. As we left the inn, the watchful warrior replaced the flirtatious lover, as if a curtain had dropped to change the scene. If the lover was appealing for his openness, his vivacity, the warrior was equally, if not more appealing for his aloofness, his control. After all, it was the warrior who first caught my eye. I was considering how best to undermine that control when we heard shouting from the town square. We headed in that direction, trying to determine what was happening. Then I heard the crack of a whip hitting flesh, a sickening sound that I have never forgotten. Someone was being publicly scourged. I laid a restraining hand on Aragorn’s arm, even though I was as tempted to interfere as he was. We were only two, with no standing or influence in the town. Any attempt on our part would undoubtedly be met with censure, if not worse. Had the twins been with us, resisting temptation would have been much harder, but they were nowhere in sight. As we drew closer, I recognized the man being punished as the man from the tavern who had bothered Aragorn.

“What was the crime?” I asked a man next to me.

“Lewd conduct,” came the reply, sending a chill through me. I did not ask for more explanation, but I could not help but think that it could have been Aragorn or me given the way we had been flaunting our relationship. “We might need to be a little more discreet,” I said softly to Aragorn, hoping the man did not speak Elvish. He looked at me sharply at hearing my voice, but no comprehension showed on his face. Staying at the inn a few more days had suddenly lost its appeal. If we could have found the twins, I would even have suggested leaving immediately. Though I certainly had no desire to find myself the next one under the lash, I had even less desire to see Aragorn in that position. Especially since I was sure that he had given no thought to the reaction of Men when our relationship was beginning. I, at least, had known that Men were not so tolerant of a love such as we shared.

We could not leave the town without the twins, but I could not bear to stay and watch the punishment. I motioned for Aragorn to follow me as I slipped away from the crowd. When we were out of sight of the crowd, Aragorn turned to face me, and I could see cracks in his controlled façade.

“Did you see?” he asked with a shudder. “That man…” He trailed off.

“We do not know what happened, Estel. Just because he spoke to you yesterday does not mean that his sentence had anything to do with us. Or with his suggestions to you. If we are discreet tonight, we can leave safely tomorrow. These villagers are not warriors, melethronen. They could not take us even if they tried, which they will not. They are afraid of Elves, not understanding that we are no threat to them. If we knew where your brothers were, I would suggest leaving now, but we will be fine until tomorrow.”

“Should we return to the inn?” he suggested.

“We could. Or we could disappear into the woods for awhile.”

His eyes flew to my shoulders, finding the straps of my pack. “You are prepared today,” he commented.

“I was only unprepared yesterday because you dragged me out of the inn without warning. I would never have left without it otherwise,” I retorted. “Does that mean you prefer the woods to the inn?”

“Given the atmosphere in town today, it might be safer,” he agreed, and so we retraced our steps from the previous day, finding our way back to the waterfall. We settled on the grass, side by side. I could sense Aragorn’s preoccupation. I caressed his shoulder tenderly. He looked up toward me with a smile, but it was not his usual smile. This one was half-hearted at best.

“What is it, meluin?” I was never able to resist that uncertain look. Not then, not when he was beset by doubts about his ancestry and his future, not when he feared having lost everything, including Arwen.

“I…I am beginning to realize that I do not understand the ways of Men. They were…” he paused, searching for the right word, “enjoying the whipping, Legolas, like we would enjoy an evening of music. How is that possible?” He turned to face me, confusion written clearly on his face. Even as I tried to answer, one part of me was marveling that he trusted me enough to let me read him so easily.

“I have never understood Men. Not completely, but I do know two things. I know that they are often ruled by their passions rather than their logic, especially in groups. And I know that not all Men should be judged by what we saw today. There have been, and still are, great Men in Arda. Men who appreciate beauty and wisdom.” He still seemed unsure. I made a guess. “Do not compare yourself to them, Estel. They have none of your experience or education.” He started at my words, and rose to pace anxiously back and forth in front of me.

“Yet the same blood flows in my veins, does it not? How do I know that I will not sink to their level one day?”

I did not know how to answer him. I sensed a nobility in him, even at that age and without knowing of his heritage, that convinced me of the impossibility of such an event, but it was nothing that I could explain. “You were with them today,” I said finally, “and their madness did not overtake you. Is that not proof enough?” It seemed reasonable to me. He stopped pacing to look at me in frustration.

“I knew nothing of the situation, of the man involved. There was nothing to involve me, only to repulse me.” The pacing began again.

“What about in battle, then? You have not been overcome like they were when fighting Orcs, have you?” I countered.

“Though I hate Orcs for having destroyed my family, and though I am glad to see them dead, I have never lost control in battle. To do so would be to invite my own death.”

“See?” I asked. “You are comparing yourself to Men whose lives are totally different from your own. If you must compare yourself to Men, at least find warriors like yourself as a reference.” I wish sometimes that I had not said those words for they sent Aragorn to Rohan and to Gondor to serve in their armies before he finally exorcised this demon that was worrying his mind. He survived his exploits, but I shudder to think that I could have been the cause of the failure of all that came later, had he died because of my suggestion. None other could have united us as he did. None other could have brought us to the Black Gate to give the Ringbearer the time he needed. At other times, I wonder if I was the catalyst that gave him the experiences he needed to be able to lead us all on that day. Whatever his later motivations, though, he accepted my logic that day and settled back beside me on the grass. I ran a gentle hand through his beard, cradling his cheek. He tilted his head into my caress, eyes closing at the tenderness.

“We are here in the beautiful glade all alone,” I pointed out. “Can you think of nothing better to discuss than the frailties of Men?” I was not sure if he was ready to let go of his concerns, but I wanted to try.

He caught the change of mood in my voice immediately and smiled, a real smile this time. “We could discuss the strength of Elves.” He squeezed my leg appreciatively before reaching higher to caress my shaft. It was apparently his day to surprise me. First kissing my wrist in the tavern, then cupping my erection. I was no more prepared for the second than I had been for the first, and my cry was just as heartfelt. I collapsed back on the grass, spreading my legs to give him uninhibited access to my body. He took the invitation, folding my tunic up over the belt and falling on my laces eagerly. In a saner moment, I might have protested the speed, but he was already freeing my erection from the confines of my leggings. His mouth captured mine, his tongue invading, and sanity fled before the warrior turned lover. Here was the confidence that I had seen in battle. Here, in my arms, was the Ranger, the Walker, the King of Gondor, though I knew none of that at the time. I had obviously succeeded in my hope of creating an equal relationship between us. Aragorn was certainly not waiting for me to take the lead. Not this time. I was helpless to resist the onslaught, hands and lips caressing, probing, arousing. He forgot all about practicalities, like boots, stripping my leggings down to my knees, trapping my legs as he did so, leaving me completely at his mercy. His hands explored me roughly, caught as he was between desire and fear. I had always been one for tender foreplay, but those rough caresses had a power all their own. I was soon straining against his hands, wanting more, wanting his domination as I had wanted his surrender. I struggled out of my tunic and shirt, giving up on suppressing the cries and moans he was wringing from me. Any thought of control had fled long ago. He took pity on me, then, and stripped my boots and leggings, leaving me bare beneath his hot gaze. I could almost feel the heat as his eyes raked me from head to toe, stopping to register again the differences between us. My hairless face, smooth chest, pale skin, slender form. He liked what he saw, his eyes darkening as they returned to mine. When he had finished his perusal, I reached for his clothes, helping him undress so we could lay skin on skin. It had only been hours since we had last made love, yet the need was there, as strong as if we had been apart for days. Now, I marvel at the constant desire I felt for him. Right then, I was too caught up in what we were doing to have thoughts of any kind. My whole being was bent on this one moment in time, this one act of love.

“The oil,” Aragorn requested as his hands sought me out again. I grabbed the vial from the outside pocket where I had secreted it before leaving the inn.

“Can you take me again?” Aragorn asked, reaching for the vial.

“Always and forever,” I murmured in reply. It was a promise I kept until the day he died, though he asked not for it. I would keep it still today, were he restored to me.

In his haste, he speared his fingers into me quickly, leaving me gasping from the mix of pain and pleasure. His fingers thrust again, stretching me roughly, dragging heavily against my pleasure point. I cried out again, writhing with the heady combination. A third thrust had me already on the brink of orgasm. Mercilessly, he drove me over, leaving me a trembling mass of nerves. For although I had come, the passion had not subsided. His fingers continued to stretch and probe, inciting me to even greater heights. Soon his fingers were not enough. I grabbed the oil, coating his erection, needing him inside me.

“Mabo nin,” I pleaded, urging him to move over me. For one brief second, I saw hesitation amid the passion etching his face. I spread my legs wider, lifting my knees, tilting my hips to be able to receive him. I guided his erection to my entrance and waited. Understanding dawned and he slid home, smooth as silk, taking me as I had asked. My eyes closed in bliss. Melin chen, my heart cried, the words begging to be said. Even in the throes of passion, though, my control held and they did not slip out.

I opened my eyes, focusing on Aragorn’s face above me, desire hardening his features, his neck corded as he supported his weight on his arms. He was masculine beauty personified for me, despite his own insecurities. He shifted his weight slightly, freeing one hand to reach for my renewed arousal. His hand kept time with his hips as they spurred me on toward release. When my climax finally came, it wracked my whole body, triggering his own orgasm. For the second time in my life, I thought I could feel the touching of souls.

As I lay in his arms, beneath his hard body as he collapsed on top of me, waiting for our heartbeats to slow to normal, I struggled again with the words I so wanted to say. In the end, I remained silent, constrained by a promise I would do anything to keep.

I wonder, now, how things would have been if the words had slipped out, if I had told Aragorn of my love in that moment of passion. I am almost certain he would have returned my feelings then. And though telling him I loved him, even making love to him, were not binding in and of themselves, I would have considered them a bond. If we had formed that bond despite my better judgment, would he have still fallen in love with Arwen? Could my love have sustained him, as hers did, through all the trials to come? Could I have pushed him, as she did, to embrace his heritage rather than reject it? Or would he have rejected it to protect me from the reaction of Men? I cannot answer those questions now, any more than I could answer them the hundreds of other times I have asked them. I know only that I would have done anything for him had he chosen me instead.

Elvish translations

Cuaren – my archer

Fëa – soul

Gwedeir – brothers

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Nach vain – you are beautiful

Mabo nin – take me

Melethron – lover

Meluin – my sweet

Annorn – harder

Tyaavo nin – touch me

Chapter 45

When we finally returned to ourselves and could move again, we went to the river to bathe away the evidence of our passion. We headed back to town warily, alert for any possible trouble. We were not armed for battle and did not want to find ourselves facing a mob.

The twins were waiting for us at the top of the stairs when we arrived. “Where have you been?” they asked in worried unison.

“Out,” Aragorn replied shortly. He had obviously not yet forgiven his brothers for their meddling that morning.

“We went for a walk in the woods,” I elaborated.

They eyed our weaponless state. “Unarmed?” Elladan asked incredulously.

Aragorn ignored them, walking down the hall to our room. I stopped them from following long enough to explain what had happened in town. “I saw no sign of the mob when we returned just now, but it might be best if Estel and I did not come down tonight. Even if we were perfectly circumspect, enough people saw us yesterday and today at lunch that our mere presence could spark another outburst. I do not want anyone hurt, but I will not stand by and be taken or see Estel taken.”

They nodded. “We will have the innkeeper bring a tray,” Elladan said. “And we will guard the stair tonight.”

Elrohir agreed. “I do not think the innkeeper will stand aside while a mob attacks his inn, but better safe than sorry.”

“We should leave tomorrow,” I suggested.

“Definitely,” they agreed.

Elladan went down the stairs to speak with the innkeeper. I started for the room, but Elrohir caught my arm. “Is Estel well?” he asked.

I must have glowered at him because he added hastily, “With what you saw this afternoon. It was the first time he has seen that kind of cruelty.”

“He was upset, but I think I convinced him not to judge himself by the behavior of these few, but to find Men like himself as a standard of comparison.”

“That is good. Take care of him, Legolas. He is still so young in many ways.”

I thought about how we had taken care of each other, but I said nothing of it to Elrohir. I was sure he did not want those images in his head. Instead, I answered simply, “I will.” As I walked down the corridor to our room, I found it ironic that the twins were so concerned about my causing Aragorn discomfort when I was the one who was feeling the twinges from our lovemaking. Not that I was complaining. It just amused me that the thought had not crossed their minds to worry about me instead of about him.

I wondered what the innkeeper would provide for dinner. I seriously doubted he would have anything up to the standards that I preferred, but I indulged in a brief fantasy nonetheless, of a meal that was made for seduction. I could picture the bowl of strawberries and cream. Envision running the strawberries across Aragorn’s skin, tantalizing him before feeding him the delectable fruit. I could see myself feasting on the cream smeared around his nipples by the sweet strawberries. I could see him returning the caress, licking cream from my skin, sliding strawberries between my lips. And it would not stop there. The strawberries would give way to hands and lips, seeking, finding, caressing sensitive places all over each other’s bodies. I began to imagine how he would taste. How he would react if I took his shaft in my mouth, in my throat, if I loved him yet another way. Would he be tangy, almost sweet, like the Elves I had known? Or did Men have another taste to surprise me? Would he even allow such an intimacy? And if he did, would he return it? I tried to imagine the sensation of his tongue caressing my erection, the slender shaft, the thicker head, the sacs at the base. He would be shy at first, as he had been at each progressive stage of our intimacy. Those first hesitant caresses would drive me wild, especially having tasted the forbidden fruit. Holding back, waiting for him to explore, to discover, would be an even greater torture than before because I knew the glories to be found in our joining. Later, as he gained experience, the hesitancy would disappear, replaced by the confidence he so personified. In all areas but his heritage. Once our intimacy was established, I only ever saw doubt again when it came to his ability to fight the last war against the Shadow.

I could not decide, as I entered the room, which image was more appealing: seducing Aragorn or being seduced by him. Over the course of our relationship, we shared both roles. Even now, I do not prefer one over the other. Each had its own appeal. At that age even, he had such strength that seeing him surrender control, seeing him submit to me, to my strength was incredibly erotic. Giving in to that strength, being the one to yield, aroused me just as fully.

Unfortunately, the plain fare that Elladan delivered minutes after I returned to the room offered no strawberries, no cream, and no other options for seduction. I took the tray, thanked Elladan, and settled with Aragorn to eat. It was just as well that the innkeeper did not provide a meal worthy of a seduction for Aragorn eyed the door periodically, clearly concerned about the possible repercussions of our actions. He was not in the mood for overtures on my part.

When we had finished eating, Aragorn set the tray outside and settled back to watch the door. I had no real desire to stand watch inside our room, and saw no need with the twins on watch at the stair. None in this town would get by them. Only their father, Glorfindel, and perhaps my father could have, and even then not easily.

“We are safe enough for tonight, meluin,” I assured him. “Come to bed.”

He gave no sign of having heard me. I undressed leisurely, though I laid my weapons and pack within easy reach of the bed just in case. Then, I crouched in front of him, completely naked since we were alone. “Your brothers will keep watch, Estel. Come to bed.”

He took in my unclothed, semi-aroused state. “I do not think I shall sleep tonight,” he admitted finally.

“At least let me hold you, melethron. Come to bed.” He acceded finally, allowing me to undress him and lead him to the bed and my embrace. We lay together, drawing strength from each other as we pondered the events of the day. Aragorn’s face revealed his concern as clearly as if he had spoken, at least to me. I later discovered that the face I could read like an open scroll was as mysterious to others as the ways of the Valar. With the tension born of anticipation gone, the lack of sleep from recent weeks caught up with me, and I soon fell asleep with Aragorn cuddled against me. Though I do not know how long he stared at the walls and the door that night, he was sleeping peacefully in my arms when I awoke the next morning.

His eyes were clear and untroubled when I kissed him awake, free of the worries of the day before. His nearness during the night had affected me, and I had regained consciousness hard and aching for release. A quick exploration revealed that he was in the same state. He arched immediately into my hand. There was no haste in the early morning silence, only tenderness. My fantasy from the night before flitted back across my mind. I still had no strawberries or cream, but I could feast nonetheless, starting with his mouth. I framed his face with my hands and kissed him lovingly, passionately, pouring myself, my fëa into the mingling of our mouths. His hands went to my back, holding, then caressing, then clenching as the fires between us grew hotter.

“Tyaavo nin,” he pleaded, breaking the kiss. I slid down his body, settling against his chest.

“How?” I asked as my hands kneaded the muscles around his nipples.

“Aye,” he sighed as my mouth descended to join my hands. A little moan escaped as I licked his sensitive flesh. He shifted restlessly beneath me, seeking contact and stimulation. I rose over him, letting my body provide the sensual contact he desired. His hands tangled in my hair, holding my head in place when I would have teased us both by avoiding his nipple.

“Annorn,” he cried when my teeth grazed his tender flesh. I bit down harder, eliciting gasps and moans that goaded me on.

I could feel his erection against my stomach. I shifted enough to slip a hand between us, seeking fingers finding the head of his shaft already slick with fluid. I could see shock and curiosity on his face as I brought my fingers to my lips, tasting his essence. A little musky, slightly salty, he tasted the way he smelled: of good clean earth and running streams. That first taste created a craving for more. I kissed my way across his stomach, tongue darting out to sample his various flavors. When my tongue finally flicked across his arousal, he came off the bed with a shout. I soothed him with tender caresses even as I took him in my mouth, encircling him with my tongue, tasting him directly this time. He cried out again, babbling my name as I sucked at his rigid shaft. I moved up and down on his erection, taking more and more until I felt him nudge my throat. He tried to thrust, but I stilled his hips, steadying him. Then I swallowed and took him in all the way, my lips resting against his groin. The heat and suction undid him and he came as I swallowed again, milking every drop from him.

When his orgasm finished, I kissed him deeply, letting him taste himself on my tongue as I rummaged in my pack for the oil. I prepared him as slowly as I could stand with passion still raging in my blood. One oil-slicked finger.

He squirmed against my hand, desire building in him again as I hit the nerves.

Two fingers.

He arched more purposefully, driving my fingers deeper.

Three fingers.

His movements began to take on the same desperation that I was feeling.

“Ae syntrea chen,” he murmured between strokes. “Aníron chen.” He was a vision, lying there, legs spread, eyes closed.

I withdrew my fingers, reaching again for the oil to prepare myself. He immediately protested the separation. “Nay. Mabo nin!”

My control snapped at his words. I tilted his hips and slammed into him. Much harder than I had intended. He froze, a sharp cry escaping his lips. The sound stopped me cold. I was experienced enough to ride the pain to pleasure. Aragorn was not, and I had just caused what was probably a great deal of pain.

“Díhena nin, melethron,” I said, stricken. “Try to relax.” I kissed him gently, hoping the pain would pass. When he relaxed a little, I set about rekindling the desire that had ruled us until my careless act. The weeks of wooing had built a level of trust between us that, fortunately, I had not destroyed. He responded again to my caresses, knowing that pleasure would follow. “Nach vain,” I whispered, encouraging him. When he was finally moving beneath me again, I relaxed my control and thrust gently, waiting to see if the pain would return. He did not tense, welcoming me inside him. He was beautiful, all control abandoned, lost completely in passion, in the passion I had evoked in him. Knowing that he had chosen me over all the Elves who had pursued him, and Elladan had implied that they were many, was a heady thought, spurring me to greater efforts. I would be worthy of his trust, of his passion. Of his love. Even when he made a different choice, I still strove to be worthy of him, of the time we had spent together. Just in case he ever looked my way again.

That time was still months away, though, and at that moment, I knew only the incredible power of his beauty. I set a gentle, steady pace, prolonging our joining as long as possible. I reveled in his tight passage squeezing around me as if to hold me inside as I withdrew, only to welcome me again as I thrust back into him. I supported my weight on one elbow, about to reach between us to stroke him to release when he climaxed, covering our stomachs with his seed. The tremors that went through him carried me over the edge as well, my own orgasm rolling through me in deep, powerful waves.

I lost touch for a time with everything except his heated body, my only anchor to reality. I finally came back to the sensation of his hand tenderly stroking my hair.

“Legolas,” he inquired timidly.

“What is it, melethron?” I asked, hearing the concern in his voice.

“Yesterday, when me made love, did I hurt you?”

“A little,” I admitted, but I hastened to add, “It quickly turned to pleasure.”

“Díhena nin, cuaren.” He was obviously upset.

“You do not ever have to apologize for touching me, Estel. If you do something I do not want or enjoy, I will tell you to stop.”

“But I gave you no choice,” he worried. “I did not know it could hurt.”

“Estel,” I chided gently, “did you tie me down, hold me against my will? Did I say or do anything yesterday, either time, to suggest that I was anything less than completely willing?”

“Nay.”

“Then how can you think I had no choice? You are a strong warrior, but you are only one Man. I think you would be very hard-pressed to hold me against my will. I could have stopped you if I wanted to. I did not want to. Do not worry about me, meluin. I am fine.”

We lay together for a few more minutes, enjoying the last moments in a bed before we returned to the wild. We had risen and were getting dressed when Elrohir tapped softly on the door. “It is time, gwedeir.”

We gathered our packs to leave. I spared one last fond glance for the tiny room in the nondescript inn that had opened a new chapter in my life. My memories of that room, and all that happened within, are as clear as if I had been there yesterday, though almost four hundred years have passed since.


	10. Chapters 46-50

Elvish translations

Seron vell – beloved

Melin chen – I love you

Im sí – I am here

Boen chen – I need you

Cuaren – my archer

Daro – stop

Hannon chen – thank you

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Meldir – friend (male)

Meldis – friend (female)

Meleth – my love

E gwadoren – he is my brother

Ae syntrea chen – please

Veston – I promise

Chapter 46

We must have been quite the sight, Aragorn and I, as we left the town, both of us stiff from our exertions, but the twins said nothing, simply falling in beside us as we continued south, leaving the forest behind for the rolling plains of the Riddermark.

The rain started around lunchtime. At first, we ignored it. Then we endured it. We searched for shelter, but found none. So we kept walking. For two miserable days we bore the rain, sleeping at night huddled under wet blankets, walking during the day in wet clothes. The rain stopped on the third morning, but the sky did not clear. We walked on, despite the miserable damp. We really needed to find a farm or a village where we could dry out. I was not worried about falling sick, but I knew Aragorn could be prey to the illnesses of Men. I also wondered about the twins, never having asked if they were susceptible. The day wore on with no sign of habitation and no break in the clouds to let Arien warm us. I scanned the horizon constantly, searching for anything that might give us a clue where to go.

I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me when I first saw the billowing smoke against the clouds. That was not a sign of life; that was a sign of death. I squinted, trying to distinguish smoke from cloud, sure I was mixing the two. When the illusion did not change, I shouted an alarm to the others. We ran toward the smoke to investigate. We found a little hamlet, five farms in all, frantically defending itself against a pack of Orcs, many more than I had ever encountered outside of Mirkwood. As soon as we were within range, we fired even as we continued to advance.

Caught by surprise by an attack from behind, the Orcs milled about in confusion for a moment before deciding that the four of us were less formidable than the more numerous farmers. It was a miscalculation they did not live to regret as we fought with bow and knife and sword.

When the Orcs were dead and the dust had settled, I sought my friends and my lover, eyes checking for injuries. The twins were fine, but Aragorn was clutching his side. Even as I started toward him, he collapsed on the ground in front of me. I knelt beside him, hands tearing frantically at his clothes, seeking the wound or wounds. As I moved his hand, hot blood gushed out, soaking his tunic and my leggings.

Before I could panic, a young woman was kneeling at my side, pressing a clean cloth into my hand. I thanked her with my eyes as I screamed for Elrohir to help me. The cloth in my hand was soon soaked as well. I knew little of healing, only enough to bind a wound until the healers could arrive, but I knew Aragorn could not continue to bleed that way and still survive.

Elrohir took my place at Aragorn’s side. “Hold his head,” he told me, “and talk to him. It will help him fight to know that we are here.”

I moved to Aragorn’s head, cradling it in my lap. I bent to whisper my love to him, pouring out all the feelings I had not dared confess. I knew I was breaking my promise to Celebrían, but I could not – would not – let Aragorn die without speaking the words I have never said aloud to anyone. “Melin chen, Estel,” I whispered. “Do not leave me seron vell. Do not make me live without you. Not when I have just found you. Ae syntrea chen, meleth. Boen chen. Stay with me.”

Elrohir continued to work at Aragorn’s side. It seemed to me that Aragorn’s breathing was slowing. I reached for my knife to draw my blood, to form the bond that would save him.

The young woman from the farm grabbed my hand, wrestling me for the knife. Our struggle drew Elrohir’s attention. “Daro!” he ordered.  
  


“I can form a blood bond, Elrohir. I can draw him back. I love him. I cannot just let him die!” I protested.

“A blood bond will not save him, Legolas. He is mortal. You cannot draw him back that way. He is strong. I have stopped the bleeding and bound the wound. He will stay unconscious, possibly for days, and will be weak for longer, but he still lives. We must give him strength in other ways.”

We had spoken entirely in Elvish, giving no thought to those around us. Having done all he could for Aragorn, Elrohir turned his attention to the farmers, joining their healer in caring for the injured men and women in the hamlet.

The young woman who had first handed me the cloth stayed at my side. “Do you speak Westron?” she asked in a soft voice.

“I do,” I replied in the same language. “I am sorry. We should not have spoken in Elvish in front of you. It was rude.”

“You were worried for your companion. Will he survive?”

“His brother says he will, and he is a healer. He should know.”

“His brother?” she asked, surprised, eyeing Aragorn’s curved ear and heavier form. “How is that possible?”

I smiled a little as I remembered asking the same question. I explained about Aragorn’s fostering. She accepted my explanation without question, keeping vigil with me while Elrohir helped their healer and Elladan organized the securing of the buildings and the burning of the Orcs. I should have helped, but nothing short of another attack could have pulled me from Aragorn’s side. I continued to murmur to him in Elvish from time to time, assuring him of my love, imploring him to return to me.

“You are very close,” the young woman observed. I hesitated before answering. I remembered all too clearly the reaction in the town we had just left. Aragorn was badly wounded, and we would need their goodwill for a time if he was to survive. If I told her the truth, would we be chased back into the wild?

“We are friends,” I replied finally.

“More than that, I would say. Shield-brothers if I have read the signs aright,” she retorted.

“And is that accepted here?” I asked.

“You are in Rohan now, Master Elf. We know the ways of warriors. None here will condemn you,” she assured me.

“You speak with great authority for one so young. Do you have a name?”

“I am called Freyla. And you, Master Elf? How are you called?”

“Legolas,” I replied, “of the Woodland Realm, known to most as Mirkwood.”

“I know it not, but we are so isolated here, not even a spot on the King’s map. And your friends?”

“Elrohir, with the healer, and Elladan, over there, the twin sons of Lord Elrond of Rivendell. And Estel, their foster-brother.”

“Not just Elves, but Elflords,” she marveled, staring at the twins. “And you, Legolas, are you an Elflord as well to travel in such esteemed company?”

“My father rules in Mirkwood,” I affirmed.

“No wonder you were able to defeat the Orcs. We owe you our lives,” Freyla told me.

“As we will owe you Estel’s life if you allow us to stay.”

Aragorn moaned, drawing my attention back to him. “Im sí, Estel,” I told him again. “Wake up. Ae syntrea chen.” He stirred at the sound of my voice, but did not wake.

Freyla excused herself to see to her family and friends, promising to find us a place to stay. I nodded absently as she walked among the remains of her home, taking in the burnt out buildings. My whole being was so focused on Aragorn that I noticed the tiny tremors running through him as soon as they started. Our wet bedrolls would be of no help.

“Freyla,” I called frantically. When she came running, I begged her for a dry blanket, or anything I could use to warm Aragorn.

“I have found a place for you. Can you bring him, or do you need help?” she asked.

“Lead on,” I answered, lifting Aragorn into my arms carefully. He was heavy, but not more than I could bear. I followed Freyla to the two houses that had not been burned.

“We are putting the injured in here,” she said, indicating the larger house. “It will make things easier for Hamaden and your healer if everyone is in one place. As we rebuild, they can return to their own homes.”

At her direction, I placed Aragorn on a pallet near the fire. “We have been traveling for days in the rain. Do you have anything dry I could dress him in? I fear he will take ill, on top of his wound.”

Freyla eyed Aragorn speculatively. “I think some of my father’s things will fit him, at least until his own clothes can be cleaned and repaired. They will not be what he is used to,” she cautioned.

“He will not care, Freyla, nor do I. As long as they are dry, they will be an improvement over what he is wearing now. Do not worry about our titles, meldis. We are warriors, used to rougher conditions than we will find here.”

“What is that word you called me?” she asked, handing me a towel so I could begin to dry Aragorn’s shivering form.

“Meldis? It means friend.”

She nodded. “I will get those clothes now,” she said, disappearing into another room. We were in her house then, I decided. The laces on Aragorn’s tunic were knotted and I could not untie them, damp as they were. I finally had to cut them to remove his tunic and shirt. The sight of the bandage against his golden skin hurt. I dried his chest, but waited for Freyla to return with dry clothes and a blanket before stripping his leggings, not wanting to offend anyone with his nudity. Freyla offered to help me when she returned, but I declined, needing to care for Aragorn myself. She seemed to understand my need, circulating through the room to check on others instead, giving me the privacy I desired to change Aragorn’s clothes and wrap him snugly in the blanket she had brought. I could not stop myself from bestowing gentle caresses on his skin as I rubbed him dry and dressed him in Freyla’s father’s clothes. They were not, as she had said, of the quality we were all four accustomed to, but they were in serviceable cotton and wool. They would keep him warm.

Elrohir came in a few minutes later with the other healer, Hamaden presumably, each bearing a patient whom they placed carefully on other pallets in the room. Hamaden exchanged a tender glance with Freyla before going back outside in search of other survivors. Elrohir came to check on Aragorn.

“He was shivering,” I told him. “We brought him inside to warm him up.”

“You did the right thing,” Elrohir assured me, checking Aragorn’s temperature and the bandage. “The bleeding has stopped. If we can keep him warm and dry, he should recover. His is by far the worst injury. Their healer knows what he is doing. Between us, we will return Estel to you. He will be sharing your bed again before you know it, meldir. Veston.”

“Hannon chen, ‘Ro.”

“E gwadoren, Legolas.” With that gentle reminder, he, too, returned outside.

Freyla came back to my side with another change of clothes. “I doubt these will fit you, Legolas, but they are dry,” she said, offering me the clothes.

“Your father might not appreciate you giving away all his clothes,” I teased gently.

“My father died during the winter,” Freyla informed me sadly. “He would be glad to know his belongings are helping others.”

“Díhena nin,” I said automatically. “I am sorry to hear that,” I repeated in Westron.

“He was old and infirm. He died gently in his sleep. He is at peace now,” she replied. Her acceptance of mortality surprised me, as it always did when I dealt with the mortal creatures of Arda. Even Arwen eventually accepted it.

“I will watch him while you change, if you would like,” she offered. “You can have some privacy in there.” She gestured to the door opposite of the one she had used to retrieve the clothes. I followed her direction and found myself in a bedroom. A quick glance told me that this was Freyla’s room. I could smell her in the air, sense her in the simple decoration of the room. I changed quickly, not liking being away from Aragorn longer than necessary. When I returned to the main room, Freyla sat by Aragorn’s side as she had when I left. She had one of his hands between hers, stroking it gently. “He was calling for someone,” she told me, “but I did not recognize the name. Cua something, but I did not understand the end.”

“Cuaren?” I asked.

“Yes, that was it,” she replied.

“He calls me that sometimes,” I explained, taking Aragorn’s other hand. “Im sí, meluin,” I reassured him.

“I saw buildings damaged or destroyed. How much was lost?” I asked Freyla, not relinquishing Aragorn’s hand.

“They did not destroy the crops, only the storage sheds and barns. Those we can rebuild before winter. We will also have three houses to rebuild.”

“Was anyone killed?”

“We lost two people that I know of. We will see who recovers from their injuries.”

“It will be some time before Estel will be well enough to travel. You must let us help.”

“You have helped so much already,” Freyla protested. “We would probably all be dead without you.”

“What is past is in the hands of the Valar. If we stay while Estel recovers, we will be eating your food and living in your space. You will find, meldis, that we are unused to being idle. Let us help.”

“That is for the elders to decide. In the meantime, I must see to my friends.”

I sat a while longer at Aragorn’s side, hoping he would wake, or at least call out, anything to let me know he was still with me. As I kept vigil, I watched Freyla move through the room, giving a sip of water to the thirsty, bestowing a gentle caress on those who needed it, generally dispensing peace and comfort. She had read right into my soul in identifying my feelings for Aragorn. If I had read hers correctly, Hamaden was a lucky man indeed. Elrohir came in along with Hamaden several times over the course of the day, bringing others to benefit from Freyla’s tender care. Each time he came, Elrohir would check on Aragorn, assuring me that he was stable, that he would recover. By the end of the day, there were fifteen wounded in the room, Aragorn’s injury by far the most serious. Later in the afternoon, Freyla organized the women to provide food for us all. I counted another twenty Rohirrim as they came in to eat. Thirty-four people in all, from the smallest child to the oldest greybeard. And they would all have to squeeze into two houses until the others could be repaired or rebuilt. I had no skill as a builder, just as I knew Elladan and Elrohir did not, but the quiet dignity of these farmfolk had touched me, especially after Freyla’s calm assurance that Aragorn and I would not be ostracized here. I would try to convince the twins to stay long enough for us to help these gentle people who had opened their doors to us so willingly. Our strength could be put to good use with a little guidance.

Elvish translations

Seron vell – my beloved

Melin chen – I love you

Im sí – I am here

Gwador – brother

Hannon chen – thank you

Nach maetolo – you’re welcome

Maer – good

Meldis – friend (female)

Melethron – lover

Mellon – friend

Ae syntrea chen – please

Veston – I promise

Chapter 47

After they had eaten, I motioned the twins to my side. “You have worked alongside these people all day,” I said, speaking softly in Elvish. “Have they impressed you as they have me?”

“Aye,” Elrohir replied, “for my part at least. Hamaden is a master of herblore. Ada could have done no better today, short of using his healing touch.”

“The greybeard over there,” Elladan said, pointing out an older man, “Haleth is his name. He claims no title, but he leads the others by quiet example, much as I saw the healer doing. Already, the fires are out, the Orcs are burned, the livestock contained for the night. They are a strong, self-sufficient group.”

I agreed, sharing with them what I had learned of and from Freyla. “Estel will need to stay warm and dry for some time to heal. I am no healer, but even I know he almost died today. Shall we offer our help, such as it is, in exchange for a place to stay while he recovers?”

“I think they would give their help unasked for and unpaid, but our help they shall get, ask or not,” Elladan commented.

“Good. Will you ask Haleth to put me to work? When I spoke to Freyla earlier, she tried to refuse. She knows of our rank, and though she was not intimidated, she was perhaps concerned that their simple ways would not meet our approval,” I told them.

“Simple, they may be, but they have done all they need to survive and flourish,” Elladan replied. “I will speak to Haleth. He is wise enough not to refuse our aid.” With that, he went off to speak to the old man.

That night, Elladan and Elrohir spread their bedrolls out to dry, accepting pallets near the fire. I lay down next to Aragorn, one hand on his shoulder, subconsciously monitoring the rise and fall of his chest. As long as I could feel his breathing, I knew he was still alive.

Though he was still unconscious the next morning, Aragorn’s color seemed improved, and I was able to coax him to drink some of the broth Freyla prepared. Having done all I could for him, I left him in her care and went to offer my hands to Haleth. Seeing with clear eyes the destruction that had been done, I wondered immediately about food supplies. When I offered to hunt, Haleth accepted gratefully, even offering me a mount to speed my travel. He suggested I ride to the east where game was usually plentiful. I armed myself for battle as well as for hunting, the previous day’s experience having shown me that Orcs had spread even this far south. The horse they provided would not have been a match for the horses my father rode, direct descendants of the Mearas, but it was easily as fine as any other in my father’s stable. The Riddermark was indeed the land of the Horselords.

I hunted for several hours, bringing down a variety of small game, but I really wanted larger prey, something to hold us for a few days. My luck held, and I found a deer that fell to a swift arrow. My mount was hesitant at first, but he finally accepted the deer slung across his back behind me. Satisfied that I had done my part to contribute to the well being of my temporary home, I rode eagerly back to the hamlet, wanting to check on Aragorn. I knew that Freyla and Elrohir had taken good care of him, but I needed to see him for myself.

When I made it back, I surrendered my catch to the village cooks, good-naturedly bearing the twins’ teasing about my cooking. In Westron. So that the whole village knew I was hopeless at preparing a decent meal. One of the village women, Beata, shooed them away finally, telling them that if I always hunted as well as I had that day, she would gladly cook for me every day. Feeling vindicated, I went to check on Aragorn. He was asleep when I came in, but Freyla greeted me with the welcome news that he had awakened for a short time. “He sleeps now because Hamaden gave him some medicine for the pain. He should wake again this evening. Hamaden’s potions usually cause half a day’s sleep,” she assured me. “You have time to bathe before he wakes.”

I stroked Aragorn’s face tenderly before pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I am back, seron vell,” I told him before addressing Freyla’s offer. “I will bathe before I sleep, but let me see first if Haleth has more for me to do.”

“But you have done so much already,” she exclaimed.

“Have you had a break today, Freyla? Have you stopped caring and organizing once?” When she shook her head, I continued. “Then why do you expect me to do less? My father may be a King, but I am no pampered prince. I have hunted and fought, defending my home and my people. I have probably spent more nights in a bedroll than in a bed over the course of my long life. You do not need to worry about me. If I do not want to do a task, I will refuse. If I cannot do one, like cooking, I will say so, or the twins will say so for me. Let me help, Freyla. You are helping me, taking care of my … shield-brother. Please, meldis?”

She relented. “Very well, but do not complain to me that Haleth works you too hard.”

I smiled at her and went back outside. A group of men and boys were struggling to raise beams to repair one of the damaged houses. “I know nothing of building,” I told Dagrun, the man in charge, “but I can pull on the ropes to raise the beams in place.” Dagrun motioned me to a team at one end of the building, and I added my strength to theirs. Building, I discovered, used different muscles, or used muscles differently, than fighting. By the time Dagrun sent us to wash before dinner, my muscles were aching n ways they had not since Glorfindel had worked me back into shape in Rivendell. I thought wistfully of the massages Arwen had given me those first few days, when I could hardly move from the muscle cramps. I still thought of her from time to time, especially when something brought back a particularly tender memory. I felt a little guilty at continuing to find such pleasure in thoughts of her, as if the love that I would always bear her was in some way betraying my new love, but I could not change my past, even if I had wanted to. I had told Aragorn about Arwen, of course, but we had not spoken of it since becoming lovers. There had been no reason to. Though my feelings toward Arwen had not changed, have never changed, I had taken a new lover. She and I had always known that we would someday go our separate ways. I had expected her to be first, but I had known it would happen, one way or the other. I loved Aragorn enough to be the one to call her mellon when next we met.

“You are preoccupied,” Freyla commented when she found me, half-dressed at the basin she had set out for me.

I still do not know what made me confide in her, a woman I barely knew, but the words came tumbling out. “Can you love two different people at the same time?” I asked her.

“That is an odd question,” she replied, “but aye, I believe you can. Is it love that troubles you?”

“It is. I have loved an Elf for more years than you can imagine, but I have never told her because love between us is forbidden. Now, I have met Estel. What I feel for him is not the same as what I feel for the Elf, for they are each unique, but it is no less strong. I think of her from time to time – how can I not? We have two thousand years of history together – and then I feel guilty, as if I am betraying Estel. I do not know what to do.”

“Does Estel know of your other love?”

“He knows we were lovers, and he understands why she is forbidden to me. I did not tell him that I love her. How could I when I have not told him that I love him as well?”

“You have landed yourself in quite the fix, Legolas. I assume you have a reason for not having spoken.”

I explained about Celebrían and my promise to be there for Arwen.

“You speak of things I cannot begin to imagine, but I know this, my friend. At some point, you must be completely honest with Estel or the life you build together will crumble like a poorly built house. And the longer you wait to speak, the more difficult it will become.”

I knew she was right, but I also knew that I would wait until I had talked to Arwen before I spoke. My word was my bond, and I was too proud of that fact to speak sooner.

“Come, Estel should wake soon, and I know you will want to see him. He asked for you when he regained consciousness before.”

“Let me finish cleaning up. I will be there in just a moment.”

She left me to finish my ablutions. My spare tunic had dried so I changed back into my own clothes before joining Freyla in the main room. I sat with her and ate what she put in front of me, but my attention was all for Aragorn on the pallet nearby. As soon as he stirred, I was on the floor next to him, holding his hand, stroking his face, pleading for him to wake.

“Legolas?” he murmured, his voice cracking. I put a cup of water to his lips.

“Im sí, melethron. Drink. It will help you wake up.” He drank obediently, still groggy from the medicine he had taken. When he had drunk his fill, I leaned down and kissed him, not caring who might be watching. I had almost lost him. It would be weeks, probably, before I could make love to him again, but I planned on kissing him every chance I got.

“What happened?” he asked when I released his mouth.

“You were wounded when we helped stop the Orcs from destroying the farms. Do you remember the battle?”

“I could not find you,” he mumbled.

Later, when he was well, I would tell him what I thought about his endangering himself to worry about me, but then I just smiled and kissed him again. “I am fine, melethron, but you are not. Is your side very painful?”

“Not so much right now. Probably the medicine.”

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“A little.”

“Freyla,” I called, switching back to Westron, “do you have something Estel could eat?”

“Hamaden said he could have some broth when he awoke, but nothing solid for a few more days.”

Aragorn grimaced when she mentioned broth. “I will have some if you will,” I offered in an attempt to convince him to eat.

“Very well,” he sighed, resigned.

“Maer. Two bowls of broth, please, Freyla.”

“Cosseting the invalid, my friend?” she asked teasingly. Aragorn started to take offense at her tone, but I soothed him with a reassuring caress.

“Whatever it takes to see him healed,” I replied, meeting Aragorn’s gaze as I spoke. The words were directed at Freyla, but they were really meant for him. It was as close to a declaration as I could make. The words pacified Aragorn, and he drank the broth without protest when he saw me doing the same. Just as we finished, Elrohir came in.

“Maer. You are awake. I need to change the bandage and check the wound.”

“Be gentle,” Aragorn requested.

“As gentle as I can, but it will probably still hurt. Do you want something to bite on?”

“Nay,” he answered, but he reached for my hand. I squeezed, promising my support.

Elrohir cut away the bandage, revealing the ragged gash in Aragorn’s side. He probed at it gently, but Aragorn stifled a cry, bearing down on my hand. I held on as Elrohir finished his examination, hoping my grip provided some comfort amid the pain. As Elrohir began applying a healing salve, Aragorn gasped out, “Is it poisoned?”

“Nay, gwador. There is no poison. You would not be awake now if there were. It will heal; it will just take time.”

“How much time?”

“I do not know. That depends on you. If you do as I say, you will heal more quickly than if you do not. Now, let me replace the bandage, then you should sleep.”

“Do not give me something to make me sleep. I will sleep, I promise, but no more potions. Ae syntrea chen?” he pleaded.

“The potions, as you call them, will help ease the pain.”

“I will bear the pain. I do not like the gaps in my memory.”

Elrohir looked disapproving, but he agreed. “If you change your mind, you have only to ask.”

“I know. Hannon chen, gwador,” Aragorn said.

“Nach maetolo, Estel. Do you feel well enough for a little more company? Ell would like to see you as well.”

Aragorn nodded, then grimaced at the pain that even that small movement caused.

“Are you sure about not taking something?” I asked as Elrohir went to find his brother.

“I am sure. The last day is a smothering blackness. I woke up in a panic earlier today. Only hearing your voice as I awoke kept me from panicking again. I do not want to feel that way.”

Elladan came in before I could answer, full of cheer and teasing. Aragorn tried to respond in kind, to reassure his brother, but the effort obviously cost him. From behind Aragorn, I sent Elladan a discouraging look. He tarried a moment longer, then left, admonishing Aragorn to rest.

“Stay with me,” Aragorn mumbled as sleep took him again.

“Until morning,” I promised, “but then I must help our new friends. If I am not here, someone else will be, and I will be nearby. I will not leave to hunt without telling you. Veston.”

“Mel…” He fell asleep before he could finish the sentence. I wondered then, as I wonder now, what he would have said if he had stayed awake just a little longer. Was he, as I hoped, trying to tell me that he loved me? Or was it something else entirely that he started to say? I knew not, but I whispered the words I wanted to hear. “Melin chen, Estel.”

Elvish translations

Cuaren – my archer

Melethron – lover

Ae syntrea chen – please

Tamip’olad – stay

Veston – I promise

Chapter 48

For two weeks, we followed the pattern set that day. Aragorn slept far more still than he was awake, which was good. When he was awake, the pain from his wound was terrible, but he continued to refuse to take anything to ease his discomfort. Freyla, the twins, and I divided the day between us so that we could all accomplish something while making sure Aragorn never woke alone. Elladan and I took turns hunting and repairing houses while Elrohir continued to work with Hamaden, helping the injured. One by one, I watched them leave their pallets in Freyla’s main room to return to their families. Quarters were tight with only two houses still habitable, but the weather was clement, and the older boys took to camping outside, imitating the twins who chose to sleep under the stars rather than take up space in the already crowded dwellings. I was glad to see the farmers healing, but it increased my frustration and worry over Aragorn. Even when he was awake, he was still too weak to sit up, despite the addition of lembas to his diet. Elrohir swore the lembas would strengthen him faster than anything else. 

By the end of the first week, we had finished the repairs on one house, and Freyla would finally be getting some relief from the crowds in her home. Beata, the woman who had offered to cook for me, and her family moved back in as soon as the house was safe. There would be time later, she insisted, for furniture and the rest. All that mattered was a roof over their heads. The day they moved in, Aragorn finally sat up on his own, though the process was slow and painful, and he could only stay sitting for a few minutes.

“Do not worry so, cuaren,” he admonished me. “I am healing, even if it seems slow to you.”

I slept beside him openly, taking Freyla at her word. No one seemed to consider my presence there odd. I even heard one man grumble that his wife was not as attentive to him as I was to Aragorn. I could not help myself. For centuries, I had suffered an unrequited love in silence. Having finally met someone I could love openly, I seized the opportunity, even if I did not say the words that would bind us for his lifetime. I awoke most mornings painfully aroused, my body reacting to Aragorn’s presence, even though my mind knew that he was in too much pain to make love. When I sat at his side, I touched him constantly, caressing his face, kissing his lips, anything to assuage and express the feelings raging through me. I had to remind myself regularly that he was not an Elf, and so would not heal as fast as an Elf, but seeing the weakness continue scared me, despite everyone’s promises that he would heal. I looked for signs that he was improving every time Elrohir changed the bandage, and though Elrohir seemed pleased each time, I could see no progress. Nor did the process seem to become less painful for Aragorn. My hand was bruised from his grip as he clung to me while Elrohir probed and prodded his side.

I came in from hunting the next day to see Aragorn struggling to sit up. He had one hand on his side; the other was pushing against the floor. I ran to his side to help. He collapsed against me, unable to support his weight any longer. His hand remained at his side.

“You are going to make yourself worse,” I scolded, waiting for him to catch his breath so I could help him lie back down. His breathing did not ease. Nor did he release his side. After a few minutes, I began to worry so I pulled his hand away and raised his shirt, only to find blood on the bandage. I grabbed his hand and placed it back over the dressing. “Press down, as hard as you can stand. I have to find your brother.” I helped him lie down, though not as gently as I should have, and flew out the door, shouting for Elrohir. When he came running, I told him what had happened. He went to Aragorn’s side, removing the bandage and examining the wound. “You have broken the stitches open, Estel. I thought I told you not to sit up without someone to help you. How long did you struggle before Legolas came in?” he asked as he cleaned away the oozing blood.

Aragorn blushed. “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes,” he admitted.

Elrohir let out a hiss of frustration as he rose to find Hamaden’s needles and thread to replace the broken stitches. “Did it occur to you to stop when you could not sit up?”

“I hate being dependent. I hate being stuck on this pallet,” Aragorn burst out.

“And you have just extended the time you will be here by your foolishness. Your injury was healing, but you have broken it open again. I am going to replace the stitches, and it is going to hurt. Are you sure you will not take anything?”

“Nay,” he answered, reaching for my hand.

I almost refused to give it to him, just to show him what I thought of his stubbornness. Almost. But I could not sit by and watch him in pain without offering my help so I gripped his hand firmly in mine. His grip tightened convulsively every time Elrohir inserted the needle, drawing the wound closed to allow it time to heal. When he was finished, Aragorn turned his head into me. “Tamip’olad,” he asked. “Ae syntrea chen.”

“Of course I will stay, melethron.”

He reached up for me, obviously wanting more than just my proximity. I stretched out next to him, wrapping around him as best I could without jarring his injuries. I could feel the dampness of tears on his face. “What troubles you, melethron?” I asked softly.

He did not answer, at first, silent tears continuing to run down his cheeks. “I hate this weakness. I hate being cooped up in here. I hate being useless. I hate you seeing me like this,” he said finally.

I soothed him as best I could with loving touches. “Do you really believe that your injury could change the way I feel about you?”

“But you have never told me how you feel about me,” Aragorn accused angrily. “How can I know what will change your feelings when I do not even know what they are?”

That was not good. I could not say the words he wanted to hear, even though I would have meant them with all my heart had I said them. “Estel,” I pleaded, “we have had this discussion before. You know why I do not speak. I thought you understood.”

“Is that really what stops you, Legolas?” he snapped. “Or are you afraid? I know what I am. I know I am mortal. Is that what is holding you back?”

“Of course not,” I protested.

“Then what holds you back? Why do you let my brothers decide where we go next? Why have you not suggested going where you can fulfill your promise? You are delaying. Why?” he demanded.

It was a question I did not know how to answer. It had not occurred to me to seek out Arwen. I would see her eventually, and when I did, we would talk. “We were looking for a town for Elrohir,” I began.

“Weeks ago,” Aragorn interrupted. “He was healed long before we found the town. Why not suggest we go to your Elf then?”

“Because things were still uncertain between us,” I replied, trying to keep my calm.

“And things are more certain now?” he countered. “And if it took sex to make things certain between us, why continue south after we left the last town? Wherever she is, your Elf, it is not south. She is either in Lórien, Mirkwood, or Imladris, none of which are south. There is more to this than you are telling me.”

There was, indeed, more than I had told him. More than I could tell him until after I had talked to Arwen. How could I explain to this boy-man that I had loved Arwen silently, had bound myself to her through my promise to Celebrían, and still expect him to wait before hearing my feelings for him? If I spoke of the former without speaking of the latter, I would lose him for sure. Yet how could I tell him I loved him until I had kept my promise to Celebrían? Once again, my heart had landed me in a situation that had no easy solution.

“I cannot explain more than I already have,” I said sadly. “I know that you are angry with me, and you have every right to be, but this is something I must do. When you have recovered enough to travel, we will seek my Elf, as you call her, and then I will explain everything. Veston, melethron. Can you be patient until then?”

He did not seem happy, but he nodded curtly, my promise appeasing him for the moment. “Do you still want me to stay?” I asked when he did not speak.

“Go help the farmers.”

I could not decide what that dismissal meant. Was he still angry, or did he simply not want to keep me from what needed to be done?

“I will be nearby if you need me,” I offered, rising from his side. He made no reply.

Elvish translations

Melethron – lover 

Mellon – friend

Chapter 49

The tension between us from that argument never really went away. It did not end our relationship, but it hung between us, unresolved, neither of us willing to give, neither of us willing to speak of it. I continued to sleep at Aragorn’s side, in case he needed me, but I hesitated to reach out to him as I had before. He had made his stance perfectly clear, and I could not blame him for it. Had I been in his position, I would undoubtedly have felt the same way. Unfortunately, understanding his feelings did not make the situation any easier to resolve.

I watched in helpless silence as Elrohir continued to care for Aragorn, without my assistance. Though I always hovered nearby when the time came to change Aragorn’s bandages, he no longer reached for my hand as he had before. Elrohir had to have been aware of the changes in our interaction, but he said nothing, finally taking to heart our requests that he stop meddling. Freyla, on the other hand, tried to help, offering me frequent advice, none of which I followed. I was in a situation with only one solution, or so it seemed to me. I had to wait until Aragorn was well enough to travel so that we could find Arwen, at which point, I could explain everything, and finally resolve the tension between Aragorn and myself. I thought, for a moment, about leaving before Aragorn recovered, traveling by myself and returning with the answer I sought, but in the end, I could not. I needed to be near him while he was injured, to see for myself that he was healing. And so I stayed and worked, side by side, with the farmers. We finished repairing the houses and outbuildings, and then I learned the joys and travails of farming. 

Aragorn did heal, though slowly. Another two weeks, and he could leave his pallet with assistance. A week after that, he could walk unaided, though not far. Six weeks after his initial injury, Aragorn was finally able to begin rebuilding his strength. At first, he worked close to the hamlet, doing only simple tasks, but as his strength returned, he began taking on the task of hunting, ranging farther and farther afield as his stamina increased. I offered to go with him at first, but he always replied that he was perfectly capable of hunting on his own. Before our argument, I would not even have asked; I would just have picked up my bow and joined him. Since then, I had hesitated to assume that my presence would be welcome. In hindsight, I think he was waiting for me to insist, to express more than a passing interest, to show in some way that I still loved him and desired him, but at the time, I saw only his disinterest. 

I agonized over what to do. I did not want to let him go, not when I had just found him, but I could not solve the problems that plagued us until he was strong enough to travel. I missed the closeness that had developed between us almost from the start. Even when he had been too shy to return my caresses, I had felt the freedom to touch him, to be with him, anytime I wanted. The wall that had sprung up between us was unbearable to me, but I did not know how to break it down. Nor did I know if he would let me.

Finally, I did what I thought I would never do. I sought Elrohir’s advice. “How do I win Estel back?” I asked Elrohir bluntly the next time we were alone.

“How did you lose him in the first place?” Elrohir countered.

“He thinks I do not love him,” I replied.

“Why would he think such a thing? Surely you have assured him of your feelings.”

“Therein lies the problem,” I explained and I laid out the whole situation: my promise to Celebrían and my inability to speak until after I had talked to Arwen.

“You and your pride,” Elrohir muttered, almost under his breath.

“What would you have me do then?” I asked. “Break my word to your mother? I cannot do that, ‘Ro. I made that promise mere days before she left for the Undying Lands. It binds me, as surely as if I were bound to another.”

“You have told Estel this?”

“I have, though I did not tell him that the promise was to your mother. Only that I had made it to an Elf who crossed the sea.”

Elrohir was silent for a few minutes as we walked on, looking for game. “You have woven a web of half-truths, Legolas, that Estel can sense even if he cannot identify them. Have you told him about Arwen at all?”

“That we were lovers, aye. That I love her, nay. How can I tell him that I love her when I cannot tell him that I love him?” It was the same question I had asked Freyla, the same question I had asked myself a thousand times or more. There was still no answer.

“You say that you cannot, mellon, but, like with Arwen, it is truly that you will not. Your pride will be cold comfort if you lose him completely over this.” Those were prophetic words, though neither of us could see it at the time.

“I do not want to lose him, ‘Ro. How do I win him back?”

“The same way you won him in the first place. It will just be harder to win his trust this time, especially if you will not tell him that you love him.”

“I cannot.”

“Then I wish you luck.”

I began my campaign as soon as we returned from hunting, sitting next to Aragorn without asking rather than giving him the opportunity to rebuff me, reaching out to touch him gently when it seemed appropriate, even kissing him before we slept at night. He still did not seek out my company as he had before our fight, but he did not leave when I joined him, nor pull away when I touched him, though he no longer initiated any caresses we shared. Then, one night, much to my delight, he slept in my arms again. We had moved from our pallet in Freyla’s room to a loft in one of the newly repaired barns when Aragorn had completely recovered, so we, and they, would have some privacy. When he shifted in my arms during the night, alerting me to his nearness, I threw caution to the wind and kissed him awake.

“Legolas?” he murmured in sleepy surprise.

“I cannot say the words you want to hear, melethron. Will you let me show you how I feel?”

“It changes nothing, Legolas. I still need the words,” he replied.

“I will give them to you as soon as I can.”

He nodded his permission, and I set out to seduce him all over again, infusing every touch, every kiss with all the love that was in my heart. I prayed only that he could feel it.

Aragorn required another several months to regain his full strength and stamina, by which time winter was setting in, and Freyla encouraged us to stay. I could tell that Aragorn was impatient to be gone, but the twins overruled him, insisting that it was too dangerous to travel in the cold and snow, even for them. I accepted their decree, though I would have preferred resolving the situation with Arwen, Aragorn, and myself sooner rather than later. And so Aragorn and I settled into Freyla’s father’s room while the twins moved in with Beata for the winter. 

Winter, I discovered, though not a time of great physical labor, was still a time for work. We fletched arrows, sharpened and replaced plows and scythes, laid traps and ran the trap lines. And still, we did not speak of what kept us apart emotionally. Physically, the distance was closing between us, though we never regained the complete lack of inhibition that we had experienced in those few heady days in a shabby inn in the middle of nowhere. Aragorn let me make love to him when the mood took me, but rarely did he initiate our intimacy. I regretted his reticence, but I could do nothing to change it. At least, nothing I was willing to do. I watched the people around us carefully, trying to learn all I could about Men so that I would know what to expect as Aragorn aged. Despite the tension that lingered between us, I fully expected to claim him as mine, just as soon as I had fulfilled my remaining obligation to Celebrían. Arwen would understand. She had to, I told myself repeatedly. Surely she cared enough about me to want me to be happy. It was the voice of desperation, trying to convince myself that I had not ruined everything. I see that now, just as I see how my pride cost me every happiness I could have had. I would give much to be able to change my silence that bleak winter. Or any of the other times I could have spoken but did not. Much indeed.

Elvish translations

Isildurion – Isildur’s son (heir)

Pen-velui – beautiful one

Melethryn – lovers

Mellon – friend

Ae syntrea chen – please

Gwaeron – March

Tolo – come

Chapter 50

When the snows started to melt and the first early flowers began to peek up from the almost-frozen ground, the twins announced that it was time for us to leave. They negotiated with Haleth for the purchase of four horses, to bear us home faster. Haleth drove a hard bargain, but the three of them finally settled on a price. As we made our preparations to leave, I cornered Elladan. “Why are we in such a hurry now when we have spent the winter idle here?” I asked.

“Because Ada wants Estel home in time for his birthday on the first day of Gwaeron. But not long before.” That explained the southern bent of our travels last spring and summer, but it raised as many questions as it answered.

“Why?”

“Legolas, you should know by now that Ada keeps his own counsel. I know not what his plans are, only that we were to give Estel some experience with hunting, tracking, and fighting, and that we were to bring him home just in time for his twentieth birthday. We have fulfilled the first part, with a few extra experiences thrown in. Now we will fulfill the second part,” Elladan replied.

I let the comment about extra experience pass, for I was sure Elladan was talking about me when he spoke of them. Our time together had indeed been a new experience for Aragorn. It had been new for me in many ways as well. I hoped Arwen would be in Rivendell when we arrived so that I could finally settle things with Aragorn and, I hoped, form the bond with him that I craved. The tension between us that winter had driven home for me how much I wanted Aragorn freely and openly in my life, and I was eager to ease the tension and restore the playfulness and tenderness we had shared when we first met.

We rode hard for Rivendell, having only three weeks’ time to reach it. Fortunately, the horses we bought from Haleth were up for the task, moving steadily from dawn to dusk, with only a short pause for lunch. We arrived, as requested, two days before Aragorn’s birthday. 

Our arrival led to another bit of awkwardness between us. We had shared a room at the inn out of desire for one another and at Freyla’s because only one was available, though my desire for the arrangement had certainly not lessened, but there was no such necessity in Imladris. Elrond had plenty of rooms available. Much to my dismay, Aragorn did not invite me to share his room, so I accepted the rooms that had been mine whenever I was in Rivendell and Arwen was not. 

As soon as I was settled, I sought out Elrohir. “Arwen is not here,” I said without preamble. “Do you know where she is or when she will arrive?”

“Ada said she should arrive next week. She is on her way home from Lórien,” Elrohir replied calmly, though his face told me what he thought of my abruptness. “Just a little longer, mellon, and then perhaps you can finally erase the miserable look from yours and Estel’s faces.” 

I thanked him and resigned myself to one more week of uncertainty.

Elrond had a feast and a party planned for Aragorn’s birthday, and I agonized over them. I wanted to attend the feast as Aragorn’s lover, to spend it at his side, lover’s braids and gold ribbons in my hair, but I did not know if he would let me, especially since he had been avoiding me since our arrival.

I cornered him finally, the evening before his birthday. “You have been avoiding me, melethron. Why?” I asked.

“Because you are still here,” he replied.

“That is a vague answer, Estel,” I retorted, beginning to get annoyed. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“If your Elf is here, you should have already spoken to her. Yet you have not spoken to me. So she must not be here. I wonder why you have not left to find her.”

“Perhaps because tomorrow is your birthday. Did it occur to you that I might want to spend it with you?” I asked in amazement.

“I am nothing to you. You need not change your plans because of me.”

That was more than I could take. “You are not nothing, as you put it, and you know it. I told you when we were at that inn that I would flaunt what we shared before all of Rivendell if you would let me. I will wear lover’s braids and gold ribbons in my hair tomorrow if you want me to, so that everyone would know that we are together.”

“Yet you will not speak the words to make it real,” Aragorn retorted. It was the same argument that we had had before.

“The Elf I need to speak to will be here next week. I will talk to her when she arrives, and then I will speak all the words you need to hear.”

“Then we will talk next week.” He turned to go.

“Estel!” I called after him, but he did not stop walking. I let him go. He was obviously not in the mood to listen to my reasoning, not that I could say anything other than what I had said before. I returned to my room to toss restlessly in my lonely bed, missing Aragorn’s presence.

I stayed late in bed the next day, having no reason to rise early and no desire to face the day alone. Then, a frantic knocking sounded at my door.

“Tolo,” I called.

Much to my surprise, Aragorn entered timidly. “Can I talk to you? Ae syntrea chen?”

“Of course, Estel, what is it?”

“I… My name is not Estel,” he said slowly.

“What do you mean? What else would your name be?” I asked, confused.

“Ada just told me that my name is Aragorn. I am the son of Arathorn, leader of the Dúnedain…” he trailed off. Arathorn. Dúnedain I knew those names. I wracked my brain, trying to place the reference. The lessons received at my tutor’s knee came back to me. The Dúnedain were the Rangers of the North, remnants of the kingdom… The kingdom of Arnor. Which meant that their leader was Isildur’s heir. I stared at Aragorn blankly, struggling to take in the fact that my lover was Isildur’s heir. Heir to the throne of Gondor. 

“Isildurion,” I murmured.

“Apparently,” he replied. “I… I do not understand. It is too much to take in.”

“What worries you?” I asked him.

“Many things,” he answered. “The Shadow grows in the East and in Dol Guldur because Isildur was too weak to destroy it when he had the chance, yet he was one of the greatest warriors Men have ever known. What chance do I have against such evil?”

“Isildur’s weakness was not a physical weakness, but a weakness of the heart. It had nothing to do with his skill as a warrior. You may not yet match him as a warrior, but it is your heart that must fight the ultimate battle with the Shadow. You will make a fine King, Est… Aragorn,” I assured him, catching myself on his name.

“I do not want to be King. I want to live my life in Rivendell, an ordinary man, with nothing more to worry about than whether the Elf I lo…” He broke off. I wanted to prompt him to finish the sentence. I wanted to reassure him that I loved him enough to follow him to Gondor if that was what it took. I wanted to be the first to swear my allegiance to the new King. I did none of those things then, and though I later swore my allegiance, I was not the first. That honor belonged to Boromir.

“Will you stand beside me tonight?” Aragorn asked. “I will need all the support I can get when Ada announces this tonight.”

“Of course I will, melethron.”

“As my friend, Legolas. When there is more to tell, we can tell them, but tonight I need my friends.”

“Your friends will be with you, Aragorn. Tonight and always. I will not wear lover’s braids, though I would not hide what we are, but I will wear gold ribbons. I want none here in Imladris but you, whether you will have me or not.”

“What are we, Legolas?”

“Melethryn,” I replied. “We are lovers, pen-velui, if you will let us be.”


	11. Chapters 51-55

Elvish translations

Aníron – I want

Cuaren – my archer

Cuivië – awakening

Isildurion – Isildur’s heir

Pen-velui – beautiful one  
Melethron – lover

Tolo – come

Chapter 51

I prepared as carefully for Aragorn’s birthday feast as I had for any of the other feasts I had ever attended in Imladris, for never before had the outcome of the feast been so uncertain. I knew, at Arwen’s Cuivië and every other time I was there with her, that she would choose me at the end of the evening. Or earlier. Aragorn had made no such promise. He had asked me to stand beside him, to support him, but as his friend. I would have preferred to stand there as his lover.

To my surprise, Elrond had me seated at the head table with the family. I was not sitting next to Aragorn, where I would have preferred to sit, but Elladan was good company. Aragorn sat to Elrond’s left. To Elrond’s right, as there had been since she left, was an empty place where Celebrían would have sat had she still been in Arda. This time, there was a second empty place, for Arwen. Elrohir sat between Aragorn and his twin. I conversed lightly with Elladan during the meal, but I was prey to a curious tension. I could feel the eyes of the Imladris Elves on me as we ate, perhaps wondering why I was sitting with the family that night, perhaps wondering at the gold ribbons without the lover’s braids, perhaps wondering at my presence during Arwen’s absence.

When the feast was over, Elrond rose to propose a toast. “We celebrate a birthday tonight,” Elrond began, “one that we have celebrated for eighteen years. Many of you wondered at my reasoning when I welcomed Gilraen and her baby, but you trusted that I had a reason. You welcomed her and her child, helped me raise Estel as my son. Together, we taught him everything he needed to know, from history,” a nod toward Erestor, “to swordplay,” one toward Glorfindel, “to healing. Two years ago, we celebrated his majority in the ways of Men and Elves. Many of you expected an explanation that night, but none came. For two years, Estel and my sons have wandered Arda, exploring its beauties and fighting its evils. Those two years were a test, though none of them knew it at the time. Could Estel take everything we had taught him and use it, not just in Imladris, not just with Elves, but with any he encountered? My sons tell me that he can and did. Therefore, tonight, I can finally explain the decision I made all those years ago. Tonight I give to you, not Estel, but Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildurion and the hope of all Arda.”

Together with all the Elves present, I raised my glass in tribute. I studied faces as I sipped my wine. Glorfindel and Erestor were nodding in agreement. This was obviously no surprise to them. The twins, too, gave no indication of surprise. Aragorn had probably confided in them as he had in me. On the other faces, I saw reactions ranging from pleased surprise to outright shock. There were even a few that might have had disgust on their faces, though I could not tell for sure at such a distance. Many in Imladris remembered Isildur and his weakness. Some might expect the same weakness from Aragorn. I resolved to speak with Erestor, to see if he had found, in all his studies, any way to increase one’s resistance to Sauron’s evil. Though none had said it at the time, we all knew that the One Ring had not been destroyed and that the only way to completely end the influence of the Shadow was to find and destroy it. Perhaps it would not happen in Aragorn’s lifetime, but if it did, I wanted him to be armed against it as fully as possible.

When the toast had ended, we all moved to the Hall of Fire. It was too cold still to dance outside in the gardens so the party would happen inside. Elladan, Elrohir and I flanked Aragorn as we made our way to the great hall. We remained silent beside him as others came to speak to him, offering our moral support. Most of the comments were friendly, encouraging. After all, these were Elves who had known Aragorn for eighteen years. A change of name did not mean a change of personality. 

The more pointed comments were actually directed at me. At the ribbons in my hair. “Your fidelity to the Lady is commendable,” Berianir commented after speaking to Aragorn.

I could feel Aragorn grow tense next to me upon hearing those words, but he said nothing. After two other Elves made similar comments, Aragorn drew me aside. “Is that what they are all thinking, seeing the ribbons in your hair? Do they think you are pining over her?”

“It is certainly possible that they are,” I replied. “We were lovers for many years and never tried to hide it.” The tension gripping him increased.

“You are the one who has avoided telling them that we are lovers now,” I told him. “I have always been willing to be your lover openly, Aragorn. You pulled away from me when we arrived.”

“You know why I did.”

“Do not blame their misconceptions on me. I would have told them, every one of them, as much as I could. Will you let me show them tonight, melethron?”

He nodded. For once, jealousy was good for something. I would tell Aragorn, when I could, that he had no reason to be jealous of Arwen. I would bind to him as I could never bind to her. He would be the one I would spend my life with, for as long as he lived. And when he died, I would leave Arda for Valinor, unless some more powerful promise held me back. I could not change my past, but that was where Arwen would stay, except as my friend. Aragorn was my future. 

The dancing had begun while we talked in the corner. I led Aragorn into the dancing, guiding him through the familiar steps, smiling and flirting, trying to bring a smile to his face as well. He followed me through the motions of the dance, but did not immediately give me the rest of what I wanted. Still, I cajoled and teased his senses, using the movements of the dance to trail my hand across his neck, to brush my shoulder, my thigh against his. Soon enough, he had abandoned his reserve and was responding. When the dance ended, we returned to the sidelines to watch. I threaded my arm through Aragorn’s, keeping contact with him even as we spoke to others. I felt him tense every time a young or attractive Elf spoke with me, but I did not relinquish his arm, and everyone respected the gold ribbons in my hair. I danced with him several more times, always using the opportunity to ruffle his senses.

When the celebration finally ended and we were walking deeper inside the house, Aragorn turned to me suddenly. “I have been difficult to live with these past months, have I not?”

“It has not been easy,” I agreed, “but you had your reasons. I understood. I only wish you could understand me as well. I made a promise, Es… Aragorn, and I cannot make another until the first is fulfilled.”

“You are right. I do not understand. Not really. I would never keep you from your responsibilities, to your father, to Mirkwood, to this Elf, so I do not see where the problem lies, but I will try to be patient for a few more days.”

I was loath to bring it up, but I felt I had to. “What about your responsibilities, pen-velui?”

“I am an uncrowned King who is unlikely to be crowned. Nor do I want to be. What responsibilities do I have?”

“To make sure that there will still be an uncrowned King when you die. I cannot give you that. I cannot give you an heir.” That thought had occurred after Aragorn had left me that morning and had haunted me ever since. Estel could take any mate he desired. Aragorn needed an heir.

“Tonight I do not want to think about responsibilities,” he said flatly. “Tonight I want to think about you. I need you, cuaren.” They were the most beautiful words he had ever said to me. Then, he leaned in and kissed me, the first time he had initiated a kiss since our fight in Rohan. I responded with all the pent-up ardor in my heart. He had consented, over those months, to my kisses, my caresses, but it was not enough. This was what I craved, this meeting of equal desires, equal needs. Of equals.

“Tolo,” he whispered, taking my hand and leading me to his suite of rooms in the family wing. I followed willingly, eager for whatever the night would bring.

When we reached his rooms and he pulled me into a tight embrace, rubbing against me passionately, I drew back. “Do not rush, melethron. We have all night. Savor the moment.”

He looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “It has been weeks since we last lay together.”

“So it has. That is no reason to do this in haste. Draw this out, melethron. Make love to me as slowly as you can. Make me wait until I am begging for you. Then, make me wait some more. Use your imagination, pen-velui.”

“You want me to…”

“Aye, melethron. Aníron.” Oh, how I wanted. His hands, his lips, his body. I wanted it all, offered freely, rather than taken as it had been for so many months. I wanted him to take me. He hesitated still. “Think of it as revenge,” I suggested. That totally scandalized him, judging by the look on his face. “You were upset with me when you realized that others thought the ribbons referred to Arwen. Make me pay for that. Give me just enough to whet my appetite without giving me what I truly desire. Hold me on the edge for as long as you can.”

He chuckled softly. “That will torture me as much as it will you.”

“But you will have the power to end it, whenever you please. I will be reduced to begging, dependent on your whims.”

“We both know you could take what you want from me at any time.”

“I could,” I agreed, “except that what I want is to give in to you. You have not said it, but I know that you feel like I have made the decisions about us. I cannot change that, but I can give you this much control, at least. If you will take it.”

“I will take it,” he replied. He glanced around the room, appraising the seduction value of different settings and items.

Elvish translations

Avbelo – don’t move

Cuaren – my archer

Ito nin – tell me

Chen – you

Mabo nin – take me

Avmalion – I don’t care

Man anírach – what do you want

Mas anírach tyaaven? – where do you want my touch?

Man – who

Quelidra – nice

Ae syntrea chen – please

Chapter 52

I waited, more or less patiently, for him to make up his mind. His eyes settled finally on the rug in front of the fireplace. He took my hand and led me closer to the soothing warmth of the fire. “Sit,” he instructed as he moved around the room.

I did as he asked, curious to see what he would devise, given the opportunity to script our lovemaking. He gathered the pillows from his bed and arranged them around me on the floor, building a comfortable nest where we could recline. The servants had left a tray of fruit and some wine on the table beside Aragorn’s bed. He retrieved the tray as well, setting it within easy reach. Finally, he dug in the drawer of his dresser, eventually locating a bottle of oil. It joined the tray on the floor. When everything was arranged to his satisfaction, he joined me amid the pile of pillows. “You are overdressed,” he observed casually.

“Do something about it,” I challenged. He cocked an eyebrow at me. 

“So that is the way you want this to be? So be it.” He reached for my robes, drawing them off slowly, leaving me clad only in a thin undertunic and my leggings. Just as slowly, he divested me of the rest of my garments, taking care not to touch my bare skin as he did so. The torture had apparently already begun. In a matter of minutes, I lay naked before him, fully aroused just from the thought of what was to come. He sat back on his heels, still fully clothed, and regarded me carefully. He had stared at me before, but never with the intensity of that night. His gaze was as potent as a touch on my skin.

“Avbelo,” he told me softly before trailing gentle fingers across my cheek to my ear. I relaxed into the caress, willing to do as he asked. I forced myself not to tilt my head toward his seeking finger as it teased around the tip of my ear. Aragorn knew how sensitive my ears were. He was obviously going to take me at my word when I told him I wanted him to draw out our lovemaking. I had offered, though, to let him take charge of our interactions, and I refused to go back on that, so I prepared myself to endure whatever delicious torments he invented. Torment me he did. His fingers brushed, ever so lightly, over the tip of my ear. Back and forth. Pausing, teasing, until I gave in and leaned into the caress. Immediately, his fingers pulled back. “Avbelo,” he repeated. When I stopped moving, his fingers returned to my ear again, with a firmer touch this time, driving me wild, as he knew it would. I did not turn my head this, not wanting him to stop, but it was difficult. I needed his touch like I needed my next breath.

His fingers trailed down the curve of my neck, lingering for a moment just behind my ear, at the spot that was so sensitive on his own body. I enjoyed his touch, wherever and whenever, but that spot did not have the effect on me that it did on him, so he moved on, down my neck, over my collarbone, teasing across my chest. I had told him to take his time, to reduce me to begging, but I had not expected to arrive at that stage so soon. 

“Ae syntrea chen,” I whispered, wanting his fingers on my nipples.

“Already?” he replied with a taunting smile. “I thought Elves were renowned for their self-control.” Elves might have been, but they had never been subjected to this kind of temptation. I squirmed a little, trying to better position myself, to catch his caress where I wanted it, but his hands immediately lifted away.

“You are cruel,” I told him.

“You deserve it,” he replied. I stilled my movements yet again, waiting impatiently for his hands to return to my body. I was obviously not going to be able to speed up this process, despite my best efforts. He was taking my words about revenge to heart. 

Still avoiding my nipples, Aragorn ran his hands across my stomach. “Quelidra,” he commented as he explored the muscles there, one finger dipping in my navel and out, mimicking the motion our bodies would soon be engaged in. I hoped.

His hands moved over my hips, lingering on the sensitive skin where my thigh met my torso, inching close to my aching arousal, but never quite touching. Then they moved on, down my legs, still kneading and probing, still stoking my desire.

I had never thought that the backs of my knees could be erogenous zones, not until he put his teasing hands there, and tantalized me. I would have sworn it was impossible for me to grow more aroused, but I did. With every brush of his wicked fingers. I had managed to still the sounds of my pleasure as I had my movements, but soon, he was wringing moans from me with just his touch on my knees, my calves, my feet. When he lifted one of my feet to his mouth, sucking on a toe, I thought I would lose control.

“Ae syntrea chen,” I said again, well aware that he had reduced me to begging.

He released my foot and leaned over me. “Man anírach?” he asked me, his lips almost brushing my ear as he spoke.

“Chen,” I whispered, voice hoarse with passion.

“Ito nin,” he taunted, his breath hot against my ear. “Mas anírach tyaaven?”

I do not know if he really expected me to formulate an answer, to pick a place for him to touch, but I was beyond such considerations. “Avmalion,” I cried. His mouth took mine, then, in a soul-searing kiss, hotter than the fire that burned in the grate behind us. I could not help myself; my arms came around him, pulling him close against me. He tolerated the embrace for the length of the kiss. Then, he caught my hands in his and pinned my wrists above my head.

“Avbelo,” he repeated again, his lips against my ear, teasing me mercilessly. His request was growing quickly impossible. I could withstand many things, but his teeth and tongue on the tip of my ear was one thing I could not withstand. I squirmed amid the pillows, desperate for his touch. Any touch. Even the brush of his robes against my skin.

His lips left my ear and followed the same path his fingers had taken earlier. Down my neck, over my collarbone, and across my chest, studiously avoiding my now aching nipples. 

“Estel,” I pleaded, the name I knew best escaping my lips.

“Man?” he asked.

I could not believe that he was still rational enough to care about what name I used, as long as it was one of his own, but I gave him what he wanted. “Aragorn.”

And he gave me what I wanted. Or at least, part of what I wanted. His lips latched on to one sensitive nipple, grazing it with his teeth, laving it with his tongue. I screamed my pleasure. I was beyond any thought of decorum or restraint. He was pushing me farther into ecstasy than I had ever gone without reaching a peak. When his lips left my nipple and moved lower, I relaxed, sure that he had tortured me enough and was finally going to give me surcease. 

I was wrong. His lips bypassed my erection, though they lingered temptingly along the crease between hip and thigh, before moving to the tendon at the back of my knee. 

“Aragorn,” I cried again, conscious of getting the name right the first time, “mabo nin.”

“Soon, cuaren,” he replied.

Soon? He was enjoying himself far too much at my expense. I was beginning to regret offering him such complete control, but I had given my word. I would just have to find a way to survive. 

That began to seem more possible when his lips moved back up my thigh, inching closer to my shaft. Then, he bit down on the inside of my thigh. Hard. The cry I let loose could have been heard in Mirkwood. Why no one came to investigate, I have never known. Words tumbled out of my lips, begging, pleading for him to end my torment, to make love to me, to claim me. I have no idea if they made any sense, but Aragorn seemed to understand. He reached for the oil, coating his fingers with the viscous fluid. My hands clenched into fists, twisting the pillows surrounding us as I struggled not to reach for him.

“Relax,” he murmured as his fingers explored, seeking the entrance to my body. I was long past the stage where I could react the way he wanted, but I spread my legs, encouraging his touch. One finger probed me gently, but firmly, demanding that I let him in. My mind was past the point of ordering my body, but my muscles knew that touch and relaxed, allowing him inside me. I groaned at the penetration, reveling in the feeling of him inside me after so long. I waited with bated breath for his finger to find the sensitive spot within me, but it did not, picking up a rhythm of thrust and withdraw without ever touching the bundle of nerves that would push me past pleasure and into release. 

All thought of pride had long since been abandoned. I begged shamelessly. For another finger. For the touch that was missing. For him to come inside me. For release. He ignored all my pleas, keeping to his slow rhythm with that one finger.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, he consented to insert a second finger, though he still avoided my pleasure point. A third finger joined the others, stretching me, preparing me for the rest of his plans. If I could have looked, I know my knuckles would have been white with strain as he worked my sensitive passage. 

I had reached such a heightened state of desire that every touch increased my passion, even that of the cloth against my back. That made the sudden withdrawal of Aragorn’s fingers even more painful. I cried out in protest as he pulled away.

“Patience,” he commanded as he rose. I was well beyond patience, almost sobbing in my need, as I watched him remove the formal robes he had worn to the feast. Underneath, he wore, as I had, a shirt and leggings. He took his time undoing the shirt, making the effort to loosen the laces all the way down the front, so that it hung open at his sides, rather than pulling it over his head as soon as he could. Though my body was still aching with unfulfilled desire, the momentary respite from his onslaught helped restore a measure of my control, and I was able to marvel that he still had the presence of mind to tease me with this slow undressing.

His leggings followed his shirt, until he finally stood naked before me.

“How much more can you take, cuaren?” he challenged.

“Not much,” I replied honestly. I felt ready to explode at the slightest touch. “Mabo nin,” I asked again.

He knelt beside me, then, reaching for my shoulder and rolling me onto my stomach. I let him arrange me as he pleased, still determined to leave the decisions in his hands. I heard the pop of the cork as he opened the vial of oil again, then felt a cool drizzle over my buttocks and in my crease. He rubbed it into my skin, caressing suggestively. Then, suddenly, his hand fisted in my hair, drawing my head back as he drove himself into me. I cried out at his sudden possession, but he was beyond hearing me. The teasing he had inflicted on me had finally pushed him beyond his own limits. I could do nothing but submit as he took me roughly, pounding his pent-up frustrations into my willing body. For even then, I was willing. If this was what it took to make things right between us, to exorcise the anger of the past months, I would do it gladly. As often as it took. His mouth landed on my shoulder, right where it met my neck, and he bit down, hard enough to break the skin. I cried out in ecstasy as the combined sensations overwhelmed me and I gave in to release. His own orgasm followed seconds later. He collapsed on top of me, his weight a heady reminder of all that had come before.

It took many long minutes before we could move, but Aragorn eventually rolled to my side. I lay where I was a few minutes longer, willing my heartbeat to return to normal.

“Legolas?” Aragorn prompted when I did not move.

“I am fine, melethron. I just have no strength left to move.”

Aragorn chuckled as he reached for a piece of the fruit on the tray. “Perhaps this will help,” he suggested, feeding me a slice of peach. I took it, licking the juice from his fingers, but it was a reflexive gesture, not one intended to arouse. After what we had just shared, it was all I could offer. I had a vague thought of moving to the bed, but we were comfortable there by the fire, and there we stayed. As sleep overtook us, a stray thought crossed my mind. Everything would be all right now.

Elvish translations

Gwathel – sister

Gwedeir – brothers

Melethron – lover

Mellon - friend

Chapter 53

I spent the next two days in a haze of joyous anticipation. I believed, I truly believed that what we had shared the night of Aragorn’s birthday had repaired things between us. Although we still had not spoken of our feelings, Aragorn seemed easier around me, our interactions more like they had been before our sojourn in Rohan. He stopped avoiding me, even seeking my company, showing me the ring of Barahir and the shards of Narsil, symbols of his heritage. I knew that we still needed to talk, but I was sure that as soon as we could, Aragorn would be mine. All I needed was for Arwen to return to Rivendell so that I could fulfill that promise. Then, I would make a lifetime full of new promises. Concerns like an heir for Aragorn seemed unimportant. We avoided talking about them like we avoided talking about the rest of our future. We would have to address all of it eventually, but nothing marred my joy in the moment.

Two days after Aragorn’s birthday, I was sitting in my room after lunch when a servant brought me a note. As soon as he left, I opened the missive, glancing over the inscription.

“I am home, melethron. Meet me when you can at our place.” The letter was not signed, but I recognized Arwen’s handwriting. Besides, no one else called me melethron. Not even Aragorn. He called me other things, but he had never called me that.

I dropped the note in the fire, not wanting anyone to see it and ask me about it. Until everything was settled between Arwen, Aragorn, and myself, I would worry about more misunderstandings. Keeping the note private would hopefully avoid at least one. I glanced at my bow and quiver, wondering if I should take them with me, but I decided against it. I was only going as far as the little waterfall behind the house. Surely, there would be no danger.

I walked slowly up the hill, trying to frame what I was going to say to Arwen. In her note, she had called me melethron. That meant she still had not found the love that Elrond had foreseen for her. Which meant, in turn, that she still claimed the right to be my lover. I had always expected her to be the one to change our relationship. The next hour would be difficult, but I hoped that all would go well and that she would accept my love for Aragorn. We had never made any promise other than to be lovers until one of us found a mate. Despite my long-held belief that I would not find anyone else, I had. I just had to explain that to her. I knew how I would begin. I would call her mellon, as we had agreed. She would understand immediately that I had found a new love. I would have to explain to her how it had happened, to promise her that she would always have a place in my life. I called the twins gwedeir, my sworn-brothers, and that is what Arwen would become to me: my gwathel, my sworn-sister. I had promised Celebrían that I would watch out for Arwen, and I would, just as I watched out for the twins. I hoped she would be happy for me. I longed to share with her my feelings for Aragorn, to have someone understand the depths of my love. I could tell Arwen. I had only ever kept one secret from her, in twenty-five hundred years. She did not know that I loved her, but she knew every other secret I had ever had. Maybe she would even be able to help me explain to Aragorn why I had felt so strongly about my promise to Celebrían. The Valar knew that I had not succeeded.

I was nearing the waterfall when I heard her voice. It was, as it had always been to me, an enthralling sound. I paused, just to listen to the song, not wanting to interrupt yet. From the tone of her note, she was probably hoping for a tryst, there at the waterfall where we had loved so many times. My news would make that impossible and undoubtedly ruin her happy mood. There was no way around that, but I dreaded it nonetheless. I still loved her and truly did not want to hurt her, despite what I was about to do.

Then, her singing stopped. I went forward to meet her when I heard voices: her light alto, and another, deeper voice that I recognized as well.

“Tinúviel! Tinúviel!” I heard Aragorn say. I started to join them, but I stopped myself before I came into the clearing where Arwen waited for me. I had not told Aragorn which Elf I needed to talk to before he and I could make our own plans. I would tell him after I had spoken with Arwen, but I did not want him to find out this way. I did not want him to think that I was meeting my lover behind his back. We had enough problems without infidelity entering the picture.

“Who are you? And why do you call me by that name?” Her voice drifted across the clearing. I took a few more steps forward until I could see them, Aragorn taking Arwen’s hand in hers as he approached her.

“Because I believed you to be indeed Lúthien Tinúviel, of whom I was singing. But if you are not she, then you walk in her likeness,” Aragorn answered her. They were courtly words he spoke, the words of one seeking approval. My heart sank as I watched them. 

“So many have said,” she replied with a smile, the same enchanting smile that had captivated me so many, many years ago. “Yet her name is not mine. Though maybe my doom will be not unlike hers. But who are you?” I felt my world crumbling about me as I heard her words. Lúthien had died for the love of a mortal man. Though Aragorn was dressed as an Elf, he was obviously a Man. If Arwen foresaw herself sharing the fate of Lúthien, that meant… That meant that Arwen loved Aragorn. Or, if she did not already, she believed that she would. My mind screamed in protest, but no sound came from my mouth. I heard Aragorn’s answer as I struggled to breathe, to accept what was happening to my dreams before my very eyes. I almost stepped forward to stop it, to interrupt them before they passed the point of no return, but Elrond’s vision stopped me. He said that Arwen’s choice of whom to love would determine the fate of Middle Earth. If, in fact, Aragorn was the one foreseen in Arwen’s life, then interfering with them would doom us all. Avoiding that fate had stopped me from telling Arwen of my feelings for more than two thousand years. It kept me from interrupting their meeting as well.

“Estel I was called, but I am Aragorn, Arathorn’s son, Isildur’s heir, Lord of the Dúnedain.”

Her delicate laughter sounded in my ears. Usually, I found her laughter contagious, the very sound of it making me smile, even laugh, but I felt no joy in it that day. That beautiful laughter was visibly having the same effect on Aragorn that it had on me. I was losing him. Losing him to the only other person I had ever loved.

“Then we are kin from afar,” she said with a smile. “For I am Arwen, Elrond’s daughter, and am also called Undómiel.’

I waited with bated breath to hear his reply. He knew Arwen and I had been lovers. Would that change his reaction to her? Would that knowledge stop what was unfolding in front of me, before it killed all my dreams?

“Often it is seen that in dangerous days men hide their chief treasure. Yet I marvel at Elrond and your brothers, for though I have dwelt in this house since childhood, I have heard no words of you from them. How comes it that we have not met before? Surely your father has not kept you locked in his hoard?”

No, the knowledge of who Arwen had been to me did not stop him. I could hardly believe my ears. He was flirting with her. Aragorn, the man who, even a few days ago, had wanted to talk about a future with me, who two days ago had made love to me until I screamed, was flirting with Arwen as if nothing in the world bound him to another. In point of fact, nothing did bind him to me, but in my anguish at the time, I could not see that. I saw only what I perceived as his betrayal. His betrayal and the death of my dreams.

“No,” she answered, glancing toward the Mountains in the east, “I have dwelt in the land of my mother’s kin, in far Lothlórien. I have but lately returned to visit my father again. It is many years since I walked in Imladris.”

I could not bear to hear anymore. I turned from the scene before me, a scene any other would have found beautiful, for what could be more beautiful than two wondrous creatures falling in love? Any other would have found it beautiful, but to me, there was nothing in that clearing except for pain. Terrible, heart-wrenching, soul-rending pain. In my more than three thousand years of life, I had loved only two beings: Arwen and Aragorn. No one else had ever come close to touching my heart, much less to possessing it so fully that I wondered what beat still in my chest. How could my heart still beat in me when I had given it so completely to the two who stood in the first blush of love, in the clearing behind me? I had known when I met Aragorn that I was being given an incredible gift with the opportunity to love a second time. When I had finally understood the role that the Valar had cast for me in Arwen’s life, I had resigned myself to being alone once she met the one Elrond had foreseen for her. Meeting Aragorn had seemed a recompense for my willingness to sacrifice myself for Arwen’s happiness. How many Elves were granted the privilege of loving fully twice in their lifetimes? Yet I had been granted it, and I had dared to dream of a time at least when I would not be alone. Those dreams were gone, all the more bitter for having been destroyed not once, but twice. I did not think I would be granted a third such love, and to bind myself to one whom I loved less than fully would be cruel to us both.

I turned down the hill to return to Imladris. I would pack my bag and return to Mirkwood. Neither of my lovers needed me anymore. They had each other. I could picture them, heads together, laughing at poor, lovelorn Legolas. I refused to let that happen. I might not have had a heart anymore, for even then, I could not reclaim it from them, but I still had my pride. I stumbled as I ran blindly through the woods, my legs giving out from under me. I landed hard on my knees, adding insult to injury. Suddenly, I could not contain my grief and my rage any longer. I threw back my head and shrieked my anger, my despair, tears streaming down my cheeks as I vented my frustration at the Valar.

“Why?” I screamed, though there was no one to hear. “Why has this happened? What did I do to deserve this fate? Why me? Sweet Nienna, why me?” Sobs tore from my throat as I knelt there, helpless in the storm of emotion unleashed by seeing them together in the woods.

How long I remained there, prisoner of my torment, I do not know. I had left Imladris to meet Arwen soon after lunch. When I finally collected myself enough to rise and continue my journey back to the Last Homely House, Arien was low in the sky, indicating that some hours had passed while I wallowed in grief. It was too late to leave for home. I would have to stay the night before I could leave. And, however much I was dreading it, I would have to speak to both Arwen and Aragorn. It would be self-inflicted torture, at best, but I had to know, had to hear from their lips, that things between us were over. They owed me that much. And however angry I was with them, I owed them the courtesy of saying good-bye.

Elvish translations

Cuivië – awakening

Gwathel – sister

Hannon chen – thank you

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Meldir - friend

Meldis – friend 

Melethron – lover

Mellon – friend

Mir nín – my treasure

Chapter 54

I ghosted through the halls of Imladris, not wanting anyone to see my tear-stained face or the distressed look I was sure I wore. I made it to my room without anyone seeing me, much to my relief. I could not have handled being the object of pity on top of everything else that had happened to me that day. I washed my face and tried to compose myself, hoping to be able to face my friends at dinner. Every time I thought I had regained control, one memory or another would slip into my mind, pulling me back into despair, bringing tears back to my eyes. First, it was the day I returned to Imladris before Arwen’s Cuivië. Then, I saw her face when I surprised her with the kitten. After that, I remembered her duel with my father in Mirkwood and how proud of her I had been that day. Next, it was Aragorn, fighting Orcs the first time I saw him, controlled and deadly, even outnumbered. Finally, the memory of Aragorn’s face when we were making love crept in, not just undermining, but destroying my control. I had had years to accustom myself to losing Arwen to another lover, and almost a year with Aragorn to ready myself to move on from her, but the loss of Aragorn was immediate, only hours old. I had no space of time to help distance myself from the pain. I wanted to act as if nothing had changed, to pretend that my heart was not breaking within me, but I could not. The first sight of either of them, but especially of Aragorn, would crack any façade I could invent.

I remained in my room through dinner, asking a servant to excuse me to Elrond and to bring me a tray. I forced myself to eat when she returned with my meal, but I tasted none of it. I set the practically untouched dishes back in the hall and locked the door. I did not want anyone who might come looking for me to walk in on me without my permission. At least if I let someone in, I could try to restore my composure first.

As I expected, a gentle knock sounded on my door an hour after dinner.

“Who is it?” I asked, hoping against hope that it was one of the twins. They would see through my façade as easily as Arwen and more easily than Aragorn, but my feelings did not involve them. I could confide in them if it came to that.

“Legolas?” Arwen’s voice came through the door. “Mellon? Will you let me in?” Mellon. She had called me mellon. That meant she was no longer my lover. She had found her love. Just as I had lost mine.

“Just a minute,” I replied. I washed my face one more time, erasing the traces of the tears that had continued to fall as I dwelled on my memories. I forced my mask into place, hiding the turmoil in my soul before opening the door to admit my love.

“You did not come to dinner, mellon. Nor did you meet me at the waterfall. Are you all right?” she asked, a concerned look on her face.

“I am fine, mellon,” I lied, “but you obviously have news for me. Tell me about him.”

She blushed, lowering her head to hide it. “You will not like my news,” she told me softly.

“Because you have finally met someone to love?” I asked. “We knew this day would come, mir nín. I would hear of your love.” It was torture, but I had to make sure.

“Am I still your treasure, Legolas? I feel as if I have betrayed you.”

“Arwen, meldis, we made no promises. We have both always known that our relationship was temporary. I was your Cuivië lover. That defined what we could be to each other. You have not betrayed me.” I realized as I spoke that it was true. I did not feel that Arwen had betrayed me. She did not know what I felt for Aragorn. She had never talked of making promises to me, other than to be my lover until one of us was ready to move on. Any betrayal was on Aragorn’s part. “Who is he, Arwen, the Elf who has won your heart?” I was not trying to be cruel by reminding her that she loved a mortal. I was hoping desperately that she had fallen in love with someone other than Aragorn.

“He is not an Elf,” she whispered.

“What?” I asked. “Not an Elf? Who, then?”

“His name is Aragorn. He grew up here in Rivendell.” Though not unexpected, her words finished shattering my heart.

“I know him,” I forced myself to say. “I have traveled with him and your brothers this last year.”

“Then you must know him well,” she replied eagerly. “Tell me of him.”

I caught the sob that was welling within me before it escaped. “You would do better to ask your brothers,” I told her, trying to maintain my mask of indifference. “They know him much better than I.” 

Her face fell. “They will interfere if I tell them.”

“Why would they do that?” I asked.

“Because he is not Elf-kind,” she responded. “They will say that I am setting myself up for heartache. They will ask what I will do when he dies.” Her voice caught as she spoke.

“They meddle because they care about you, mellon, and they would be right to ask that question.” I knew how vital a question it was, for I, too, had struggled with it, wondering how I would go on after Aragorn’s death.

“I do not know how I will cope with losing him, but we live in perilous times. Loving an Elf is no guarantee of ages of happiness,” she retorted.

“You are right, of course, but an Elf who dies will one day be reborn. When a mortal dies, his soul leaves this realm, never to return. When you lose him, it will be forever.” I felt cruel, saying what she heard many times from others before the end, but I also knew that she needed to consider these things.

“Loving him, even for a short time, would be worth it. Will you wish me happiness?”

“Aye, gwathel. I wish you every happiness.”

She hugged me gratefully. “Hannon chen, gwador. You are the best friend I have ever had.”

I shrugged, feigning a yawn. “Díhena nin, Arwen,” I said. “I am tired and I want to leave for home tomorrow. I should sleep.”

“Sleep, then, meldir. And do not worry,” she added from the door. “You will meet someone to love, too.”

She left the room, sparing me the need to reply. The wail I had been holding in escaped finally. I knew she was not trying to wound me with her words, but they cut deep. I had found someone to love. Unfortunately, he did not love me the same way. I collapsed on the bed, exhausted from the emotional wringer I had experienced that day. I simply could not take any more so I ignored the next knock at my door, staying where I was when Aragorn’s voice drifted through the door. He knocked a second time. When I still did not answer, he left me alone, trapped in the destructive spiral of my thoughts. 

That night was the longest and darkest I had ever known. As I tried to reconcile myself to what had happened and to envision a future for myself without either of my loves at my side, I sank deeper and deeper into the quagmire of depression. I even picked up my hunting knife, running the edge back and forth across my exposed wrist. It would be easy, I thought, to turn the blade, just the smallest bit, to apply a little more pressure, then to lie back and let it happen. I could end my suffering and never have to face the long ages of the world alone. I knew what loneliness felt like. I had suffered from it since the day I met Arwen, free from its icy grip only when I was with her, and during the past months with Aragorn. I did not know how to face a loneliness that stretched out before me forever. My grip tightened on the hilt of my knife, ready to turn the blade, to apply the pressure, to cut the vein that would ease my pain forever.

Elvish translations

Cuaren – my archer

Daro – stop

Dartho – wait

Mae govannen – well met

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Ion nín – my son

Mellon – friend

Pen-neth – young one

Ae syntrea chen – please

Chapter 55

‘Daro!’ my father’s voice cracked in my mind, cutting through my pain, staying my hand. 

‘Ada?’ my mind called back feebly. My father had occasionally reached out to farspeak me before that night, but always because he needed me to come home or because he wanted to give me information of some kind. Never before had he farspoken me because of my need, and I had never been able to initiate contact, only respond to him.

‘I know you think it is hopeless, ion nín, but do not give up. There is always hope, though it may not come in the form that you imagined.’ As he spoke, I could feel his love and care washing over me, soothing the rough edges of my shattered heart.

‘I am so tired, Ada. I had learned to live alone most of the time, knowing that I would lose her some day. I had accepted that, Ada. And then I met…’ Even in my thoughts, I could not form the words, could not say his name, but my father understood.

‘You hoped again, and having those hopes dashed is terrible. I know, pen-neth. I know what it is to lose the one you love, and I also know that it is possible to go on. You must trust me.’

‘How?’ I cried.

‘Come home, Legolas, and let me take care of you.’ I nodded, though he could not see me, but he felt my assent through the bond he had created with my mind. His love flowed back to me across the link that he maintained, even in his silence. It strengthened my flagging reserves. I let the knife fall from my hand, wrapped in the cocoon of my father’s love. I did not slip into reverie, but the roiling emotions that had ruled me all afternoon subsided, calmed by my father’s control, allowing me at least to rest. 

I spent the night cradled by his care, his thoughts a buffer to mine each time I began a new descent into depression. Every time the temptation to reach for my knife came again, I felt a surge of love, of support, and I was able to resist it. I survived the night because of him. 

When Arien rose, I felt the link ease, as if the light would protect me as he had done. I bathed and dressed, making my preparations to leave. Then, I went to the kitchen to ask for breakfast and supplies for my trip home. I was leaving the kitchen when I came face to face with Aragorn. Of all the people I did not want to see that morning, Aragorn topped the list.

“Mae govannen, Legolas,” he said hesitantly.

“Mae govannen,” I replied, though I would have preferred not seeing him.

“I came to your room last night, but you were not there,” he told me.

“I was there. I did not want company. I am going home, Aragorn. I wish you well,” I answered.

“Dartho, cua… mellon,” he stuttered. “I need to tell you…”

“Nay,” I said. “You do not need to tell me anything. I saw Arwen yesterday after dinner. She told me all I needed to hear. You want her; you do not want me. That is your choice. There is nothing left for me here, so, at the risk of repeating myself, I am going home.”

“Díhena nin, Legolas. I never meant…”

I was suddenly tired of this conversation, of the farce that we were playing out in the halls of Imladris, where any could come and overhear. “It does not matter, Aragorn. She can give you what I would never be able to. Just let me go. Ae syntrea chen?” The despair of the previous night welled back up inside me. I had to get away from him before I embarrassed myself. Then, just as it had the night before, I felt the bond my father had created pulse with his thoughts, steadying me, helping me react reasonably toward Aragorn. And so I dared to say to him what I had not said to Arwen.

“Have you thought carefully about what you are doing?” I asked Aragorn, wanting to spare Arwen any heartbreak, even if, at that moment, I would have joyfully ground Aragorn’s heart beneath my heel.

“You are going to tell me that she is an Elf, that I am too young for her, that I set my sights too high. Elrond has told me all these things already. In my mind, I agree, but they do not touch my heart,” he told me honestly.

Before I could frame a reply through the renewed pain that coursed through me at his words, I heard a shriek from the courtyard. It was Arwen’s voice. Setting aside my own feelings, I ran toward the courtyard, ready to defend my love from whatever was upsetting her, even if that was no longer my right. I was vaguely aware of Aragorn following in my wake.

“What is it?” I asked, reaching her before Aragorn did.

“My father,” she said through clenched teeth. “He meddles in my life, trying to deny me the one I have chosen.”

“You said you could bring him around,” Aragorn interrupted, his voice concerned.

“He says you are too young, too far below me in the world. As if that mattered to me!”

I blocked out the rest of the conversation, though they stood right in front of me. I could not bear to listen, choosing instead to drift in my thoughts to Mirkwood and the peace I hoped to find there. I came back to the present when Aragorn stormed off.

“I will have him,” Arwen muttered, turning to me, “with or without my father’s blessing.”

Her dismay was obvious, and it was more than I could stand. For a moment, I set aside my own feelings and focused on hers. I did not know what I could do, but I would at least try to speak to Elrond. For her sake. I excused myself to her, telling her that I would probably be leaving for home that day and asking her to give my regards to her brothers. She embraced me gently and placed a sisterly kiss on my cheek. “Be safe, mellon,” she told me, “and come visit me soon.”

“Will you stay in Rivendell or return to Lórien?” I asked, wanting to know so I could see her or avoid her depending on my state of mind.

“That depends on my father,” she replied and left me. I made my way to Elrond’s study, enraged at the whole situation. I could not blame him for my feelings, at least not the ones for Aragorn, but I did hold him responsible for upsetting Arwen.

I tapped at his door and waited for him to bid me enter. He seemed surprised to see me. “Legolas, what brings you to my door so early in the morning?” he asked.

“I am leaving soon,” I told him, “but I have something to ask you before I go.”

“Ask, then,” he replied, gesturing for me to take a seat.

“Since the week before Arwen’s Cuivië, you have told me that her choice of whom to love would determine the fate of Arda. You refused me my heart’s desire so that she would be free to choose when the time came. Why, now that she has found someone to love, are you stopping her? If this is the fate you have foreseen for her, why keep them separate?” I asked.

“I will give my daughter to no less than the King of Arnor and Gondor.” I heard traces of the High King’s herald in that voice. Here was the Elflord of great power who rarely showed himself in the usually placid façade of the Lord of Imladris. I had hoped, foolishly perhaps, to smooth Arwen’s path with her father, but I was beginning to realize that this was one mission doomed to fail. Still, I had to try.

“And if he has no desire to take the throne?” I countered.

“He will do for her what he would not do for himself,” Elrond replied calmly.

“You would use their hearts this way?” I asked incredulously.

“I will use whomever, whatever I must to defeat the Shadow. Even my own daughter.” I heard both determination and resignation in his tone.

I did not know how to reply to that statement. Finally, I asked, “And if they will not be used?”

“Then we will all perish under Sauron’s hand,” Elrond replied with terrible finality. “Return home, Legolas. You are weary, and I know your father worries about you.” It was a dismissal that I could not refuse. I gathered my pack and my horse and rode for home.


	12. Chapters 56-60

Elvish translations

Melin chen – I love you

Caun nín – my prince

Ion nín – my son

Mae govannen – well met

Naneth – mother

Peredhil – half-Elves

Tamip’olad – stay

Tolo – come

Chapter 56

The days of my trip home were bearable. Having to guide my horse and watch for Orc sign forced my mind away from my self-pity for a time, but the nights were awful. Even with the link to my father vibrant in my mind, I would catch myself reaching for my knife at least once a night, thinking that nothing could be worth bearing this torture. Each time, my father would fight my demons for me, his touch in my mind restraining my hand. He never seemed to grow tired or frustrated with me, though I grew frustrated with myself, with my own weakness. Did I really care so little for life that I was willing to throw it all away? During the day, surrounded by light and the beauty of Arda, I could say no, but at night, with only Ithil’s rays to keep me company and the weight of the darkness pressing in around me, I lost that assurance. I was halfway home when a voice hailed me from the woods. “Mae govannen, caun nín.”

I jerked my horse to a halt, head whipping around, searching for the source of the voice. Saelbeth dropped down from his perch in a tree. “King Thranduil said we would meet you today. Tolo, your father wants to see you. His tent is just over the next rise.”

I followed Saelbeth mutely over the next hill. As he had said, my father’s traveling tent was set up in a clearing, and my father stood at the open flaps, waiting for me. I wanted to throw myself from my horse into his arms, seeking comfort as I had not done since I was an Elfling, but I forced myself to dismount calmly and to salute my father, hand to my chest, warrior to King. He inclined his head, accepting my salute as his due. Then, he gestured for me to enter his tent. I could hear his voice muffled by the tent walls, dismissing his guards, instructing them to form a perimeter beyond the range of their hearing.

He waited outside until his escort was arranged to his satisfaction, then he joined me inside. I had remained standing, unsure of what he would say to me. In fact, he said nothing, just opened his arms to me, folding me against him tightly when I moved into his embrace.

“Melin chen, ion nín,” he murmured against my hair. I clung to him as if my very life depended on it, and perhaps it did, letting out all my grief and anger. The words I spoke were not coherent as they poured from me, but the words did not matter. I could feel the bond between us so strongly that I could all but see it, and through it, my father felt what I was feeling and understood what I could not say. He did not try to reason with me or to explain away my sadness and sense of betrayal. Nor did he question my actions as the twins had always done. He just accepted what I was feeling, letting it wash through him and out of me. It was the lancing of a boil that had festered for too long, a drawn-out, painful cleansing that left me trembling in its aftermath.

My father kept me pulled snugly against him as he sank to the floor. I curled against him, my head resting in his lap, his hand gently stroking my hair and back. As he held me, memories of my childhood flickered through my mind, of my father comforting me just this way when no other comfort would do. Once more, millennia later, no other comfort would do, and my father gave me what I needed, as he had always done.

When the emotional storm had passed and I was relatively calm again, I sat up and looked at my father. “How am I to live like this, Ada?” I asked plaintively. “I cannot even make it through the night alone. You cannot support me like this forever.”

“Do not underestimate me, ion nín. I will support you as long as you need, but you do not want to live that way, I know. It will take time, but your grief will lessen, and you will learn to find your strength in other ways.”

“What other ways, Ada? I thought that an Elf who was fading could only be saved by a bond or by leaving for Valinor.”

“Is that you want, Legolas? To bind yourself to someone you do not love in order to stay alive? You would be alive, that is true, but it would only be half a life. If you bind yourself that way, the one with whom you share a bond would never be able to be with another. Nor would you, for your emotions would carry through the link and you would destroy each other,” my father said, almost harshly.

“I do not want that,” I exclaimed, “but I thought it was the only way.”

“It is the most obvious way, the simplest way if there is someone who loves the one who is fading. But it is not the only way. I lost your naneth, and I did not fade. Elrond lost his wife, yet he is still here. There are other ways, they just require more from you because you must survive long enough for them to work.”

“Tell me, Ada, ae syntrea chen. What other ways?” I asked. I did not want to fade, despite the way I was feeling. 

“Some Elves take comfort in the arms of temporary lovers, but I do not think that will be your way. Since you met Arwen, you have eschewed casual lovers, so I doubt you would seek one now. Instead, you must learn to draw your strength from the land, ion nín. You can talk to the trees, I know. Now you must learn to draw from them, but it takes great discipline, because you must do this yourself. You cannot rely on them to strengthen you unawares. You must do this consciously, before you become so mired in your depression that you succumb to it. You will learn, in time. In the meantime, I will support you.”

“Is that really possible?” I responded slowly. I had never heard of such a thing.

“Not for most, but then, most do not hear the trees the way we do. We are Silvan Elves. Our connection with the land is unbroken. Surely you noticed the difference when you traveled with the Peredhil.”

“I noticed, but I thought it was because they were half-Elven,” I replied.

“It is because they are Noldor. Their connection was diminished when their ancestors crossed the sea. The trees speak to you, unbidden, do they not?”

“They do,” I replied, “though not all the time.”

“Then you can do this. You can learn to draw from them and stop this before it consumes you.” I agreed to try. I started to rise, to find a place to spread my bedroll for the night. “Tamip’olad, Legolas. Spread your bedroll here tonight. It will be easier for you if you do not have to face the darkness alone.”

He was right. Having him there to hold me during the dark recesses of the night did make it easier. For the first time since seeing Aragorn and Arwen together by the waterfall that had been hers and mine, I did not reach for my knife that night. I still struggled with my grief, but my father’s presence was a balm to my soul, and despair did not overwhelm me.

Elvish translations

Hamio – sit

Ion nín – my son

Maer – good

Maliar – careful

Tur – control

Chapter 57

We finished the journey home slowly, as my father began teaching me to draw more from the trees than just information. Every morning when we woke, he would lead me away from the others and guide me as I opened my heart as well as my mind to the trees. We would repeat the process when we made camp for the night. The first few days, I could hear the trees easily enough, but I could not open my heart to them, having to rely on my father’s strength to keep me whole instead. I understand now that the problem came from my belief that there was nothing left of my heart, not even pieces that could be put back together. As my father’s care helped me heal, at least a little, I finally abandoned that notion and began to make progress. 

“I can feel it,” I exclaimed, as a trickle of energy flowed into me one morning. 

“Maer,” he replied as I struggled to draw more energy from the trees. “Maliar,” he warned me. “You can draw too much.” I realize now that he was regulating the flow of strength from the trees, protecting me from taking more than I could handle. At the time, I knew only that the trees were trying to comfort me, as my father had done. The feeling of well-being lasted until long after lunch. When I felt it fade, I started to reach for more.

“Nay, ion nín,” my father said, bringing his horse beside mine. “You have not yet learned enough control to do this on your own. Wait for the evening.”

“But Ada…” I began.

The look he gave me was not father to son, but King to subject. I knew better than to argue with him in that mood so I subsided, forcing myself to wait until we made camp to experience again the amazing communion with the world around me. Once again, that night, my father guided me through the process of touching the trees, of finding their core and drawing from the life force of Arda. I was able to pull more energy than I had that morning as my father lessened his control over the process. It was still only a trickle of power, but the feeling of it coursing through me was incredibly potent. Once again, I struggled to pull in more. Once again, my father stopped me. “Tur, Legolas,” he told me. “You must control it, not let it control you. It is dangerous otherwise.”

Even with the little I had taken, I did not sleep that night, filled with seemingly boundless energy that faded just before the dawn. My father did not control my communion the next morning. The strength of the trees washed over me, almost drowning me before I could break the contact. I felt as if my body were alight with energy. I ranged far and wide that day, trying to release the pent-up power within me. I did not sleep that night. Or the next. And when I finally came down off the high, I felt worse than I had since I had been reunited with my father.

I was about to reach out to the trees again when my father appeared before me. “Have you still not understood?” he asked me. “This is not a trick to be used lightly. You can kill yourself this way just as easily as you can in your grief. You must take just enough strength from the trees to carry you through until your own strength is restored. If you become dependent on the trees, you will never be self-sufficient again. Your body and soul cannot withstand the highs and lows of drawing too much.” 

I nodded as if I understood, but it took many more years, and a nearly fatal trip to Fangorn, before I truly did. He did not let me draw from the trees again for three days. When, finally, he let me again commune with them, I remembered his words, and tried not to take more than I could handle. It was still trial and error, and some days I had more success than others, but by the time we reached my father’s palace, I had learned enough control that my father no longer felt the need to monitor my every move.

As time passed, I relied less and less on the link with my father, though it never completely faded. Even now, I have only to think of it and I can feel his touch in my mind as I never could before.

We had been home for a month when my father called me to his study.

“Hamio,” my father said, indicating a chair. I took the indicated chair warily and waited. If my father wanted to chat, we did so as we dined in the evenings. A summons to his study meant that something else – something important – was happening.

“You seem to be feeling better,” my father said, studying me closely.

“I am, Ada. Most of the time, anyway.” It was the truth. I was able to push aside my anger, my grief, my sense of betrayal most days, though occasionally the sight of a couple would bring it all back. Even then, though, I could pull myself back together quickly.

“You misunderstand me, ion nín. You are growing more adept at controlling your emotions, at hiding them, but you have not dealt with them. What will happen the next time you see Arwen? Or worse, the next time you see Aragorn? The walls you have built up around your feelings will come tumbling down and you will be as helpless as you were when this first started.”

“Aragorn is mortal,” I replied. “I merely have to avoid him for a few years and he will be gone.”

“Aragorn is Isildur’s heir. He has the blood of Númenor in his veins. He will not die in ‘a few years’ as you put it, though he will die eventually. His life will span two hundred years or more. I have spoken with Elrond. The world is changing. He and Galadriel have felt it, as have I, and they foresee a role for you in that change, in the fight that is to come. If you are to do that, you will have to stand beside Aragorn, for he, too, has a role to play in what is to come.”

“I will do my duty,” I informed him, dully.

“Oh, Legolas,” my father sighed, “this is not about duty. This is about loyalty and, aye, even about love. Duty will not face the Shadow. It takes more than that, as you know from your time patrolling these woods. Duty alone cannot stand. If you take up the task that Elrond has foreseen, whatever it may be, only out of duty, you will fail, and perhaps those with you as well. Tell me what passed between you and Aragorn. Maybe by helping me understand, you will help yourself as well.”

I was not ready to do as my father asked. I was quite sure I would never be ready to do as he asked. But my father was not King for nothing. He knew just what look to give me to have the words tumbling out. I spoke, haltingly at first, of coming upon Aragorn in the woods, of how I had joined in the battle simply because he was fighting Orcs, of how I had admired his courage and his skill, and of my shock at learning that he was Elrond’s foster-son. “Did you know that Elrond even had a foster-son?” I asked, interrupting my own tale.

“Aye,” my father replied. “He told me soon after the boy came to Imladris, but he bade me not speak of it. So I did not. Go on with your story.”

So I did. I talked of our courtship, of my doubts about Arwen, of the time in the inn, and then of going to Rohan. I told him of the hamlet we had found, of Aragorn’s injury, of the farmers and of our fight.

“I do not understand, Ada,” I said at that point. “I do not know how many times I explained my promise to Aragorn. Why could he not be patient a little longer?”

“Mortals are not known for their patience,” my father replied sagely. “He needed reassurances that you did not give him. I know you had your reasons, and I know you explained them to him, but all the explanations in the world do not take the place of what he wanted to hear.”

“I could not,” I answered.

“Could not, would not. All that matters to him is that you did not. You feel he has betrayed you, but he did not, Legolas. Until one of you spoke the words, there was nothing more binding between you than the physical. And while that might have been wonderful, it was not enough to stop him from taking from someone else what you would not give him. I taught you to be proud, ion nín, and I taught you that your word was inviolate. I may have taught you too well.”

Elvish translations

Hamio – sit

Mae govannen – well met

Meldir – friend (male)

Meldis – friend (female)

Mellon – friend

Thranduilion – Thranduil’s son

Chapter 58

My conversation with my father did not immediately heal me of my bitterness. Nor did it make me accept that I had some responsibility in what had gone wrong between Aragorn and myself. It took time and distance to gain that perspective, but eventually, I was able to let go of those feelings and remember instead the months of bliss that had been our courtship.

Thirty years had passed in relative tranquility when my father decided he needed me to travel to Lórien. He would never admit to me if he had known that Arwen was there, just as he never admitted that he had healed the rift between himself and Elrond, but I suspect that he knew. I knew, though, as I left home, that there was every possibility she would be there. Elrond had not relented concerning Aragorn, and Arwen was stubborn enough to return to Lórien as a way to express her displeasure. I saw it as the chance to test my newfound tranquility. Or at least, my newfound control. I just had no idea how much of a test it would be.

The Wardens of Lórien greeted me at the border, as they always did, arrows drawn until they had identified me. Then they welcomed me and led me to Caras Galadhon where I would await my audience with Galadriel. Arwen arrived while I was waiting.

“Legolas, mellon,” she called, coming across the clearing to stand beside me. She looked as if she wanted to hug me but was unsure of her reception. I wondered at that as I replied. 

“Mae govannen, meldis,” I replied, drawing her into a friendly embrace. 

“I am glad to see you,” she told me quietly. “It has been a long time.”

“Long indeed,” I answered. “Are you well?”

“Very well,” she said with a smile. Before she could say more, a servant was calling my name. “My grandmother wants to speak with you now, but come to my talan when you are done. I have much to tell you.”

I agreed and followed the servant up the stairs to the flet where Galadriel received visitors. I had stood there once before, and would later stand there once again. It remained unnerving, watching her float down to greet me. 

When my business with her was concluded, I made my way to Arwen’s talan, curious to see what news she had to impart. As always, her talan was disorderly. She presented the perfect picture of serenity to the rest of the world, but her own little corner of it was perfect chaos.

“What is this news that you have for me?” I asked her when I entered.

“Hamio,” she instructed, “be at home and tell me how you have been.”

I did not reply at first. I did not think Arwen would want to hear of my struggle to put my life back together after she and Aragorn had unintentionally turned it upside down. “Life in Mirkwood goes on as it always has,” I told her, “fighting the spiders and the Orcs, hoping to keep the Shadow from advancing any farther into our home.”

It was not a real answer, but it was the only one I could give. “And King Thranduil? Is he still as haughty as ever?”

I laughed at that. “You never saw him haughty, meldis. He liked you too much to be haughty to you. But he is fine as well, though I know the fighting wears on him. Now, what is this news that you have for me?”

“I… That is…” she trailed off, unable to finish. Finally, she simply held out her hand. There, on her finger was a silver ring, a ring that I recognized when I looked at it closely.

“That is the ring of Barahir,” I said softly.

“Aye,” she replied. “It is Aragorn’s ring. He gave it to me last summer.”

“You have seen him, then,” I commented, not ready to deal with the reality to that ring on her finger.

“I have. He tarried here for a time last year. He was weary from war and the ways of the world.”

“War?” I asked, surprised. Arwen explained to me how Aragorn had joined the armies of Rohan and Gondor, how he had fought for the kings of both nations and had been accepted as a powerful warrior.

“You would hardly recognize him if you saw him again, Legolas, for he is much changed. Where before he was a young man, barely out of his youth, now he is grown to full stature of body and mind. I almost mistook him for an Elf-lord when I saw him again.”

Her words cut, though she meant me no harm. I had had my chance with Aragorn and I had foolishly waited to speak. I had no claim on him anymore. “You have bound yourself to him, then,” I said, trying to keep the pain out of my voice.

“Not in anyone’s eyes but our own,” she admitted. “Ada will not budge. The King of Arnor and Gondor or not at all, he says, but I do not care. I love him, Legolas. He is the one for me. I know it in my heart.”

“And what does Aragorn say about your father’s insistence?” I probed.

“That the time is not right. That he does not want that power. He fights with himself, fearing his heritage, afraid of losing himself to the Shadow. Yet he is an able warrior. I would fight beside him if I could, but my father forbids it. I can stay tucked away safely here or I can return to Imladris, but I cannot fight beside the one who holds my heart. It is not fair,” she exclaimed.

“Nay. It is not fair, but it is perhaps wise. It is easy enough to be distracted in battle when you have only yourself to look out for. If you are trying to protect one you love as well, it can have dangerous consequences. Aragorn knows that,” I cautioned her.

“He learned it trying to look out for you,” she said with a smile. I gaped at her, not knowing what to say. “He still bears the scar on his side from where he focused too much on you and not enough on himself.”

I really did not know what to say then. “I never scolded him for that the way he deserved,” I said finally.

She laughed at that. “Never fear. Though it is nothing but a fine white line now against his skin, I scolded him enough for both of us.”

They had been intimate. That was the first thought that crossed my mind. If she knew what that scar looked like, they had been at least intimate enough for him to remove his tunic. Otherwise, how could she know? And if they had been that intimate, it was entirely possible that they had shared everything that could be shared between lovers. I could not stop the spike of jealousy that I felt at the thought. If I had been having this conversation with anyone but Arwen, I would have sworn she was gloating, reminding me that she had what I had foolishly failed to claim. But Arwen had never been that way. She might have known that Aragorn and I were lovers, but she did not know of my feelings. And how could she? I had never told Aragorn, the one person who needed to know. No, like a fool, I had told the twins, I had told my father, but not Aragorn. Some of what I was feeling must have shown on my face. “Legolas?” she asked hesitantly.

“What did he tell you of that time?” I asked in reply.

She regarded me carefully before answering. “That you were lovers for a time, before he met me. That you taught him the ways of desire. Much as you taught me,” she commented. “Why do you ask?”

Why did I ask? What could she possibly have said that would ease my heart? If he had told her that he had loved me, it would mean that my foolishness was greater even than I had already realized. And if he had told her that it had meant nothing, that would have destroyed me just as completely. She had said neither of those things, but her answer did not assuage the pain I was feeling.

“We never spoke of what those days meant,” I answered noncommittally. “That was more my fault than his. I cannot help but wonder how he viewed our time together.”

“He speaks of you as a friend, meldir, when your name comes up in conversation. He told me once that you had kept him from losing faith in Men. For that alone, I am grateful, else how could he even consider taking the throne that is his birthright,” she told me gently.

It was beginning to seem that everything that had passed between Aragorn and myself had been a preparation for his life with Arwen. It made me angry, but the anger was not at them. It was directed at the Valar, who played with lives to suit their purposes. Leave me out of the rest of your plans, I thought angrily, though, of course, they did not listen.

“It seemed the right thing to do at the time,” I answered Arwen lamely. We talked for a few more minutes, but it was quickly obvious that I wanted to be elsewhere. She sent me to my rest, admonishing me to seek her out when I had time to spare from my duties. I promised that I would, unable, as always, to deny her anything she asked.

I drew strength from the mellyrn trees that night, something I had not had to do in years, having reached an equilibrium that rarely required my attention in those days. The conversation with Arwen had stirred up all the memories of Aragorn and love lost through my own cowardice and pride. The balance was restored by morning and I was able to face my appointed task and the time with Arwen with an aplomb I had never imagined possible, but the whole experience brought home to me that I still loved them both. I honestly wished them happiness together, since I knew neither would now find it with me, but I regretted what I had lost. I would have to deal with that before I could do what my father said would need to be done.

I was leaving Lórien a week later when I heard the Lady’s voice in my head. “Do not despair, Thranduilion. You know what you will need to fulfill the tasks appointed to you. You must believe in yourself once more.” Her words were more of a mystery than a comfort, but I trusted that they were true. The Lady rarely spoke of what she saw for the future. So much was unclear or uncertain. If she spoke to me of my future, it was because she was certain of that much.

Elvish translations

Gwador – brother

Hannon chen – thank you

Ion nín – my son

Nach maetolo – you’re welcome

Mae govannen – well met

Meldir – friend

Perien – Halflings (Hobbits)

Tolo – come

Chapter 59

I returned home, to find my balance again and to finish coming to terms with the reality of my foolishness. The Shadow grew stronger in Dol Guldur, and I was rarely away from home. Until 3018 of the Third Age, the beginning of the end. My father sent me to Imladris, for an important council, he said. 

“If the council is so important,” I asked, “should you not be the one to go, Ada?”

“This is your task, Legolas, the one that Elrond and Galadriel have foreseen for you,” he replied.

As I was leaving, he gave me one final instruction. “Remember, ion nín, that you have a role to play yet in all of this, though it may break your heart once again. Duty is not enough. You must stay true to your heart. Only then is it possible to succeed.”

I did not understand my father’s words as I led the party of Mirkwood Elves to Imladris, accompanied by Saelbeth and Silinde, two of my father’s most trusted advisors. They would advise me, should I need it, but I was to speak for my father. And by extension, for all of Mirkwood.

We rode hard, for the roads were no longer safe, shortening our journey as much as possible.

The courtyard was empty when we first rode into Imladris. I dismounted and looked around, amazed as always at the beauty of Rivendell. I could hear the trees whispering their welcome. I answered in kind, and pulled a little extra strength from them. I suspected I would need it before the day’s end. I was just about to go in search of a servant when Elrohir’s voice called out to me.

“Mae govannen, Legolas,” he shouted from across the courtyard.

“Mae govannen, gwador,” I replied with a smile. I had not seen the twins since I left Rivendell almost seventy years earlier, and I had missed my friends.

When he reached our side, he greeted my escort as well. “Tolo,” he said to all of us, “let us get you settled. I am sure you will want to bathe and rest before dinner. The council is set for tomorrow, so you have time.” 

The others nodded, eager for a chance to wash away the dust of the road. I hung back, waiting to speak to Elrohir alone. When the others were out of earshot, I asked, “’Ro, is Aragorn here?”

“Aye,” he replied, “and Arwen as well. Aragorn arrived a few days ago with a strange company.”

“I need to speak with him. Where would I find him?”

“Legolas,” he cautioned, “he has made his choice.”

“I know that, and I do not poach,” I told Elrohir quietly. “But we were friends once. I have not seen him in many years, and I would like to know what he has been doing.”

“You will probably find him in the library. I will take your pack to your room,” Elrohir offered.

“Hannon chen, meldir.”

“Nach maetolo,” he replied. I left him there in the courtyard and headed for the library. As predicted, Aragorn was there, sitting comfortably in a chair, book across his knees. As soon as I saw him, I remembered what Arwen had said about his having matured. She was absolutely right. I had known a young man, barely above his majority. The man sitting in front of me now was one fully grown, fully developed. I felt an immediate ache in my heart at having been stupid enough to lose him all those years ago, but I smiled nonetheless, a little surprised to realize that it was not a forced smile. “Mae govannen, Aragorn,” I said into the silence.

His head jerked up as he sought to locate the voice that spoke from the shadows. I stepped forward into the light. “Mae govannen, Legolas,” Aragorn replied, genuine delight on his face as he rose and embraced me. I hesitated for a moment, but I had longed for any touch for such a length of time that even this embrace between friends was a relief. Aragorn pulled back and looked at me. “You have not changed at all.”

“I am an Elf,” I answered with a smile. “You, though, have changed indeed. I hardly recognize you. Where has my Estel disappeared to?” I said it teasingly, but it was the wrong choice of words.

“I have not been your Estel for many years,” Aragorn replied, a slight chill in his voice.

“Forgive me, Aragorn,” I said quickly. “I did not mean to offend. Tell me what you have been doing. What brings us all to Rivendell?”

Aragorn recounted then the strangest tale I had ever heard, though I have heard one stranger since. He told me first of his time as a Ranger with the Dúnedain of the North. He told me of receiving word from Mithrandir, whom we came to call Gandalf, and how he had planned to meet Gandalf in a small inn in the town of Bree. Gandalf had not come, but Aragorn met four Perien, one of whom had inherited a ring, but not just any ring. The One Ring. He told of hiding from the Nazgûl that found them in Bree. Then, of a journey through the wild to Rivendell. Of a battle with five of the Ringwraiths on Amon Súl. He spoke of the injury that one of the Perien had sustained and of how he feared to lose the Hobbit to the Shadow. “I searched for athelas, to slow the poison. I was so focused on the search that I did not hear the footsteps that approached. She never tires of it, Legolas, trying to get the better of me.”

He did not say Arwen’s name, but he did not have to. I saw the light in his eyes as he spoke and knew that he could only be referring to her. “She was searching for you?”

“And she found us, with a sword to my throat, just to see me flinch.” I laughed at the embarrassment on Aragorn’s face even as I cringed at the thought that he was the one she was seeking to best. Always before, it had been me. “When she saw Frodo, she knew, as I did, that he was fading. She had Asfaloth with her. I was going to ride ahead with him, to the banks of the Bruinen where he would be safe, but she would not let me. She insisted that she was the faster rider, that she should take him. I tried to argue, but she would not listen. She took Frodo and rode out of my sight. I have never been so scared, Legolas. The other Hobbits were all in a panic, demanding to know what I thought I was doing. I did not answer them. How could I tell them that I knew exactly what I was doing, even if it was likely to kill me? I was sending the one I loved to face the Nazgûl.”

“Elrohir said she was here. Is she unharmed?” I experienced a moment of panic, and though I knew that Aragorn could not have stopped Arwen if she was determined to do something, a part of me wanted to shake him for letting her go into danger that way. Then I remembered all the conversations she and I had had on that very subject. It was probably just as well that Aragorn had not tried harder to stop her.

Aragorn smiled in response to my question, a huge grin of smug satisfaction. “She outrode them all, Legolas. She drew them all to the Fords of the Bruinen, tempting them into the river, then calling down the waters, washing them away, leaving them unhorsed to slink back to Mordor however they could. I did not see it, of course, having stayed behind with the other Hobbits, but I have heard about it. Endlessly. You know how she is.”

I knew exactly how she was. She had gotten her way and had proven herself up to the task. She would make absolutely sure that no one forgot it for a long time, so that the next time she wanted to do something dangerous she would have proof that she was capable. Oh, yes, I knew exactly how she was. I also knew that she was his as he was hers. I had managed the conversation with some degree of normalcy, but it was getting difficult. I excused myself, expressing a desire for a bath and a rest. Aragorn nodded as I left, returning to his book. 

On the way out, I passed a Man I had never seen before. He was dressed well, but his clothes were stained from travel. ‘Another person here for the council,’ I thought, nodding to him as I passed.

Chapter 60

I started toward the room where I would be staying before deciding that I did not want to be inside. Though the conversation with Aragorn had gone well, wearing the mask of friendship when I still longed for so much more had drained me. I needed to be under the trees, where their quiet whisperings could soothe my troubled soul. I had to get beyond this reaction. If what my father said about Elrond and Galadriel was right, I would have to stand at Aragorn’s side in this fight with the Shadow. Soon. And that meant not falling victim to the consequences of my unrequited love.

I wandered through the quiet forest, avoiding any place I expected to see others. For a time, I succeeded, and my thoughts grew calm and my heart steady again. When I finally felt up to facing the gathering at the Last Homely House, I started back. Voices caught my attention.

“Renech i lu i erui govannen?” It was Arwen’s voice that spoke. I spun around, looking for her in the woods. I found her standing on a bridge, in the Garden of Twilight, just on the edge of the forest. Aragorn stood with her, her hands enclosed in his. Once again, their beauty struck me. Her slender form balanced by his much more muscular one. Her pale skin countered by his sun-kissed face. Her smooth face contrasting with his beard. There on that bridge was everything I had ever wanted. But it would be forever beyond my reach. 

I wanted to turn away, as I had wanted to turn away when they first met, but I could not tear my eyes from them then any more than I could the first time I watched them. She wanted to know if Aragorn remembered when they met. I did not know if he did, but the memory of that afternoon was etched into my mind forever.

“Nauthannem i ned ol reniannen,” he answered. A dream. He thought he had strayed into a dream. For me, it was straying into a nightmare.

Her hand went to his cheek, caressing gently, brushing back a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. “Gwenwin in enninath...” She was right about that. The years had been long, for them, I was sure, with having to be apart so often, and for me, having to learn to live without them.

“U-arnech in naeth i si celich.” I had thought I was imagining it, the cares I saw in his eyes and on his brow, but she had noticed it, too. He had not aged with the speed of most Men, having the blood of Númenor in his veins, but he seemed… tired to me.

“Renech i beth i pennen?” Did she really have to ask if he remembered what she said? I had talked to him. I could tell how much he loved her. Whether she knew it or not, he could probably tell her every word she had ever spoken to him. Certainly every word of any import.

His hand rose from between them, his fingers tracing across her skin to touch the Evenstar that hung in its customary place around her neck.  
  


“You said you would bind yourself to me. Forsaking the immortal life of your people,” he told her, switching to Westron. I knew she had to have made that promise. She had told me as much in Lórien. She wore his ring. But to hear him say it, to hear the amazement in his voice at the depth of her love, brought the reality of their binding home to me in a way that nothing before ever had. I was not just losing her for Aragorn’s lifetime. I was losing her forever. If she made that choice, she would not cross the sea to Valinor or pass into the Halls of Mandos, eventually to be reborn. Her soul would leave this realm for paths unknown to the Elves. She would be gone.

“And to that I hold. I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone.” No! My heart cried out in anguish at her words. What about the rest of us, I wanted to shout. What about the others who love you as well? But her thoughts were not on her family or her friends. She had one focus, and one focus only. Aragorn. 

Her hand reached for his, enfolding it in a gentle grasp. When she released him, he turned his palm upward and stared, first at his hand, then at her. I could not see at first what she had given him. Then, the fading light caught the object in his hand, causing it to sparkle. The Evenstar. She had given him the symbol of her very life. Her next words confirmed it.

“I choose a mortal life.” There was such love in her voice that I wanted to cheer even as I wanted to cry. Elrond had promised such a love for her, one so encompassing that she would forsake everything else to see it through. Though I did not approve of Elrond using their love for his own ends, I could see why he believed that Aragorn would do for Arwen what he would not do for himself. How could anyone refuse anything when faced with such a selfless love?

I wondered if he realized the import of her gift.  
  


“You cannot give me this!” he exclaimed, trying to return the pendant. She smiled at him gently, almost indulgently, her hand closing over his, enclosing the Evenstar in his grasp.

“It is mine to give to whom I will... like my heart.” She watched him with desire in her eyes, her head tilting to invite his kiss. I could see it even from where I was standing. He apparently saw it as well, for he turned his head to meet her lips, their clasped hands still between their bodies. It was a gentle kiss, the sealing of a promise renewed. Then, the kiss deepened. Before my eyes, it changed from a promise renewed to a promise of things to come. Their hands lowered, Aragorn’s arms coming around Arwen, drawing her against him, caressing her back with easy familiarity. She leaned into him with the same ease that spoke of years together. As I watched, unsure whether to interrupt or to slip away, a change came over them. It was barely noticeable at first, the glow that began to surround them, but it grew stronger as the kiss continued and deepened, as their hands began to roam each other’s bodies. Quickly, the soft glow had encompassed them, visible proof of the power of their love. Only Elves who were fully bonded to one another ever let off that kind of aura when with their mate.

I turned and fled, then, faced with indisputable truth. Whatever either of them had felt for me, once upon a time, they had bound themselves, in ways that went far deeper than any ceremony devised by Elves or Men. Their union was blessed by the Valar, and there was nothing I could do but accept it. Accept and grieve.


	13. Chapters 61-65

Elvish translations

Perian – Hobbit

Perien – Hobbits

Chapter 61

I spent the night in the woods, purging my despair, searching for the balance I would need to go on with my appointed task, to represent my father at the council the next day. If we were to discuss the fate of the One Ring, Aragorn would be there as well. He did not want to be King, but he could not avoid the reality that he was the heir to the throne of Gondor. His voice would need to be heard. And if he was there, I would have to face him.

I returned to my room to bathe and dress before I went to eat. I arrived early at the council site, wanting a chance to observe the others as they arrived. Saelbeth and Silinde found me there, asking after my whereabouts. I gave them a vague answer and returned to my observations. The first to arrive were a group of Dwarves. They watched us with barely concealed distrust. I schooled my own features to reveal nothing, though I felt the same as they. A few minutes later, the man I had seen in the library entered as well, followed by Elrond, the twins, Glorfindel and Erestor, dressed in council finery, though only Elrond wore the circlet that marked his rank. Galdor was there as well, sent by Cirdan from the Grey Havens. Aragorn came in on their heels, dressed finely but simply. To those gathered who knew him, he needed no mark of his rank. To the others, he was a Dúnedain, a Ranger from the North. Finally, Gandalf arrived, bringing with him a child. I wondered at that. What business could a child have in this council? Then I saw Aragorn greet the boy and heard the boy call him Strider, and I understood. This was the Perian, the Hobbit who had brought the Ring to Rivendell.

The bell rang, signaling the beginning of the council, and we all found our seats.

“Strangers from distant lands, friends of old,” Elrond began. “You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate--this one doom.” His eyes traveled the council as he spoke, meeting the eyes of each member, trying to impress upon us all the importance of what was to be decided today. “Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.” Elrond gestured to the pedestal in the middle of the terrace on which we had assembled. I catalogued the name in my mind, sensing already the importance of this strange creature.

The Hobbit rose slowly and approached the pedestal, placing the Ring there with a sigh. He returned to his seat just as slowly and seemed to sink back into his chair. I watched him carefully as the whispers grew around me. He was an odd sight to me, one used to Elvish grace and the size and strength of Men. He could not have stood much taller than my breastbone, yet I could tell that there was more to him than met the eye. There had to be, for him to have brought the Ring this far, resisting not only its temptation, but also the lure of the Nazgûl and a wound from a Morgul blade.

“So it is true...” The man whose name I still did not know spoke softly. The whispers continued until he rose. “In a dream, I saw the eastern sky grow dark, but in the west, a pale light lingered. Voices crying, ‘The doom is near at hand Isildur’s bane is found.’” Elrond and Gandalf exchanged questioning looks as Boromir spoke. “Isildur’s bane,” he repeated, approaching the pedestal where the Ring still sat and reaching out to touch it.

“Boromir!” Elrond’s voice cut across the terrace, but it seemed to have no effect on Boromir. He would be one to watch, if the voice of the Elf-lord was not enough to sway him.

Before he could touch the Ring, Gandalf’s voice boomed out, speaking words I did not understand. “Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.” I did not understand them, but I felt them, to the very depths of my being. I could not stop myself from cringing as he spoke and the world grew dark around us. At least I was not the only one. Even Elrond seemed bothered by what he heard. Gandalf’s words had the desired effect, though. Boromir backed away from the Ring and resumed his seat, looking shocked and bemused.

When Gandalf fell silent again, Elrond looked at him with a mixture of dismay and amazement. “Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris,” he chided Gandalf. Only Elrond would have dared to chide an Istari.

“I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond,” his voice still rough from using the Black Speech. “For the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West. The Ring is altogether evil,” Gandalf replied, starting back to his seat as well. 

“No, it is a gift,” Boromir said, rising again. “A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring?” He began pacing back and forth across the floor of the council. “Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!”

“You cannot wield it!” Aragorn interjected, speaking for the first time, frustration on his face as he tried to explain what should have been obvious. “None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.” I saw the look Boromir gave Aragorn, a look of contempt and disdain. He had looked at the surface and had not seen beneath. I wanted to defend Aragorn from that look, but I no longer had that right. Besides, Aragorn could defend himself if he so desired.

“And what would a ranger know of this matter?” Boromir’s voice dripped with condescension as he spoke. I knew Aragorn could defend himself, but he was obviously not going to. I could not let the insult pass.

My anger was surely evident on my face as I sprang to my feet. “This is no mere ranger,” I informed him, meeting his eyes with a steely stare and carefully avoiding Aragorn’s gaze. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.”

Boromir stared at me for a moment before turning disbelieving eyes to Aragorn. “Aragorn? This... is Isildur's heir?” Aragorn raised his chin subtly, a challenge, an acknowledgment of the implied insult, but he remained silent still.

“And heir to the throne of Gondor,” I added, just in case Boromir needed that reminder. 

“Havo dad, Legolas,” Aragorn said softly, his eyes telling me that he could fight his own battles when he was ready. I acknowledged his words with a nod, but did not sit right away. I wanted to see Boromir’s reaction.

He gave me one last look of defiance. “Gondor has no king.” Turning to Aragorn, he added, “Gondor needs no king.” Then, he resumed his seat.

“Aragorn is right,” Gandalf said, breaking the tension between the three of us. “We cannot use it.”

“You have only one choice,” Elrond informed us gravely. “The Ring must be destroyed.” I had feared it would come to that, but to hear it stated so plainly was troubling nonetheless.

One of the Dwarves spoke, then. I did not see which one, my eyes still focused on Boromir and Aragorn. “What are we waiting for?”

The seemingly youngest of the party of Dwarves rose, axe in hand, and approached the pedestal. With a loud cry, he brought the axe down on the Ring, obviously intending to shatter it. He was thrown to the ground, his axe shattering into pieces, and the Ring began to whisper again, the same harsh sounds Gandalf had used earlier. I winced at the sound.

“The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin by any craft that we here possess.” Another name to put with a face. The name of he who became my best friend. “The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came.” Even as Elrond spoke, the Ring continued its sibilant whispering.

“One of you,” Elrond announced, “must do this.”

Absolute silence greeted his declaration.

Boromir broke the silence finally, saying in a tired voice, “One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland. Riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!” 

His opinion of the matter was obvious, but his opinion did not change the facts. I stood up again, that seeming to be the only thing that would catch his attention. “Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed!”

It was perhaps the wrong thing to say, as it started an argument that almost ended the council before it could begin. Gimli jumped to his feet at my words. “And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?!”

Boromir rose as well. “And if we fail, what then?! What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?!” 

This was not going well, especially when Gimli added, “I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!”

My father’s councilors were reasonable Elves. Except when it came to dealing with Dwarves. They rose behind me, shouting insults at Gimli and the other Dwarves. I put out my hand to stop them, hoping to avert a fight. Unfortunately, no one was restraining Gimli.

“Never trust an Elf!” he shouted. The council descended into chaos, with even Gandalf rising to add his voice to the melee.

“Do you not understand that while we bicker among ourselves, Sauron's power grows?! None can escape it!”

And through it all, the Ring continued to whisper, pouring its malice among us, driving even the calmest of us to anger.

Only Elrond, Aragorn, and Frodo remained outside the fray. I noticed that only vaguely, still concentrating on avoiding a fight between Elves and Dwarves, here on council grounds. And the voice of the Ring grew louder, spurring us on.

Then, one small voice cut across the shouts and the voice of the Ring, shaming us all in its simplicity and courage. “I will take it! I will take it!” He had to say it twice just to get everyone to listen.

We all turned to stare at the little Hobbit behind us who had risen to his feet as well. “I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though… I do not know the way.” I could see the doubt in the eyes of almost everyone there, but when I looked in Elrond’s eyes, in Gandalf’s, and in Aragorn’s, I saw no doubt. That was enough for me. 

Gandalf walked to Frodo’s side, his hand going to the Hobbit’s shoulder. “I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, for as long as it is yours to bear.”

Aragorn rose, then. “If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will.” He crossed the circle of chairs and knelt before the Halfling. “You have my sword.”

My father’s words returned to me. “You will have to stand beside Aragorn,” he had told me. I knew in that instant what I had to do. 

“And you have my bow,” I swore, walking to Frodo’s side. The oath was made to Frodo, but it was as much a promise to Aragorn as to the Halfling. I still loved him, and I always would, but I was coming to terms with the fact that he could not be mine. Still, I would not let him do this alone. He sent me a grateful look, hearing my vow.

“And my axe!” Gimli insisted. We exchanged dark looks as he joined the growing circle around Frodo. I would give him a chance, I promised myself, if he would do the same.

Boromir took in the scene in front of him, obviously still wanting to argue, but with an Istari, a Man, an Elf, a Dwarf and a Halfling already agreed, there was little he could do but accept. “You carry the fate of us all, little one,” he said to Frodo. He had clearly not seen the strength of will that hid in Frodo’s small frame, or he would have chosen other words. Frodo’s body might have been small, but there was nothing little about his heart. “If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done.”

A shout from behind us startled us all as another Halfling appeared from the bushes. “Mister Frodo is not goin’ anywhere without me!” That was Sam, I later learned, Frodo’s friend and gardener. At the time, I did not know what to make of him, but Elrond and Gandalf met his announcement with a smile.

“No indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not,” Elrond chided gently. Sam seemed oblivious to the subtle rebuke.

Then, two more shouts came from the entrance to the terrace, two more Hobbits emerging from behind pillars where they had secreted themselves. “Wait! We are coming too!”

And they ran down to stand beside Frodo as well. “You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!” one of them exclaimed.   
  


The other, the littlest of the four, added, “Anyway you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest... thing.”

“Well that rules you out, Pip,” was the caustic reply from his friend.

Elrond looked at us carefully, appraising the strength gathered before him, an alliance of races never before seen on the face of Middle Earth. “Nine companions... Nine Walkers to balance the nine Riders,” he mused. “So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!”

“Great! Where are we going?” the one called Pip asked with what I came to realize was typical lack of awareness. I met Aragorn’s eyes over the heads of the Perien and I smiled. He smiled back, obviously used to their ways. In that moment, I knew I would do what it took to find a way for us to be friends again.

Elvish translations

Mellon - friend

Chapter 62

With the council over and the decision made, I began to think about preparations for the journey. I had my bow and a quiver of arrows, of course, but I had not brought a means to repair or replace them. For the relatively short journey from Mirkwood to Imladris, I had not needed them, but for the journey we were now undertaking, one that would last months, arrows would break, or be lost. I gathered what I would need and was pondering what else to take when I heard Aragorn’s voice from the shadowy terrace behind me.

“Do you have a minute, Legolas?” he asked quietly.

“Of course, mellon,” I replied. Only hours ago, I had promised myself that I would find a way for us to be friends and talking to him now seemed as good a place to start as any.

“I am sorry for snapping at you during the council,” he began. “You were only trying to help.”

“If I spoke out of turn, perhaps I should be the one apologizing,” I answered.

“Not out of turn. I knew who Boromir was, but he did not know who I was. I was content to leave it that way, to avoid the very reaction that my identity provoked. I did not know what would come of the council, of course, but as the son of the Steward, I knew Boromir would be involved in any decision. I did not see a minor insult being worth the problems that could have arisen,” Aragorn explained.

“A minor insult? Aragorn, he called you a ranger,” I exclaimed.

Aragorn laughed at that. “That is exactly what I am, Legolas. What I have been for nearly thirty years. A Ranger of the North, defending those who cannot defend themselves.”

“And who look down on you, not realizing they owe you their safety. I know how you have spent your time, but you are more than that, not less, as he tried to imply,” I insisted, more offended by the implication that Aragorn seemed to be.

“You have always defended me,” Aragorn commented with a small smile. 

“And I always will,” I replied fervently.

“Why?” he asked.

Because I loved him. Of course, I could not tell him that. Before I could think of an answer, he interrupted my thoughts by taking my hand. “I owe you another apology as well,” he said.

“For what?” I asked, unable to think of anything else that had passed between us since my arrival that would warrant an apology on his part. I did not draw away, though I knew I should. I had longed for his touch, any touch, for so long, and his hand felt so good on mine.

“For not explaining myself all those years ago,” he said in a soft voice. “For throwing aside what we had shared with no word to you.” He released my hand and went to stand at the edge of the terrace, hands braced, back stiff, as if he was expecting a blow. This was the conversation I had been dreading, but perhaps airing the old wounds between us would let them finally heal.

I joined him at the rail, my hands coming to rest next to his, staring out over the beauty of Imladris, the waterfalls, the woods, the coming twilight. I did not trust myself to speak, so I remained silent, waiting for whatever he would say.

“Nothing I could say would excuse my actions,” Aragorn said finally.

“Just tell me,” I prompted.

“I… The whole time we were in Rohan, I was torn. I could never understand the promise you felt you had to keep. I tried to respect it, to accept that you had this need, but it did not stop me from feeling insecure, from wondering if you were not, in fact, using that as an excuse to avoid saying words you did not feel. And then, when we returned here…”

“Go on,” I encouraged him.

“It was all too much to take in. Finding out who I really was, trying to understand what that meant for my future… I was adrift. I looked to you as an anchor, a refuge in the storm. And you were there for me. I realize that now. You stood beside me, willing to help me through my fears and my anxieties, asking only that I give you the time you needed to fulfill your promise. I might have found a way to give you that time. I wanted to. Then, Berianir made that stupid comment about the gold ribbons you were wearing. I knew you wore them for me, but I was jealous, thinking that everyone else thought you belonged to Arwen,” he admitted.

“It was never a question of belonging, Aragorn. We were lovers because it suited us at the time. Besides, you knew she and I had been lovers,” I reproached him gently.

“I knew, but it had all seemed past when we talked of it.”

“It was past. From the first time I kissed you, it was past. I do not play games, Aragorn. Not those kind.”

“I was too afraid to see that at the time. I was sure that I would lose you. If not to Arwen, then to the Elf to whom you were bound by the deathbed promise.” I realized that he still did not know that they were one and the same. I should have told him, at some point, even if not then. “And that scared me. So much that I almost drew back from you that night. I think I would have if you had not spent the evening at my side and the night in my bed. I knew what your actions meant. At least I think I did, but I was still afraid. And you did not say the words I wanted to hear,” he told me.

“I would have said any words you wanted to hear if you had waited just a few hours longer,” I said softly. So softly in fact that he could not make them out.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. Continue,” I urged.

“And then I met Arwen. I saw her and could see nothing else. Not even you. I tried to come explain that night, to tell you that I had met her, to end things the right way, but you did not answer your door. And then, the next morning, you were so cold. I dared not speak. Arwen told me later of speaking to you that night and of your meeting in Lórien. I did not ever mean for her to bring news that I should have brought myself, but it seems that she always saw you first. I love her, and nothing could change that, but I regret the way things ended between us.”

I regretted that they had ended at all, but I understood what Aragorn was trying to do. He was trying to make sure that any lingering tension between us did not affect the quest we were about to undertake. 

“I… Thank you for telling me all this,” I said finally. “I was hurt by what happened, I cannot deny that, but time heals all wounds, mellon. Mine have healed as well.” That was a lie, but they were the words he needed to hear. I laid a companionable hand on his shoulder, feeling the shiver that ran through me at that simple touch. “We will do this thing together, and we will find a way to defeat the Shadow.”

“Elrond wants to reforge Narsil. He wants me to take the sword of the King,” Aragorn said softly.

“Why not take it?” I asked. “It is yours by right.”

“By right, perhaps, but I do not want it. I have never wanted it. I have not earned it, Legolas. What if I am not worthy of it?” he questioned in reply.

“Only time will tell if you are truly worthy, but you will never prove your worth if you avoid your birthright,” I replied. “This task will prove the worth of us all, I think.”

He smiled. “You may be right.” He excused himself and left me alone on the terrace with my thoughts.

Elvish translations

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Mellon – friend

Chapter 63

“You must hate me.”

Arwen’s voice startled me out of my pensiveness. I had been trying to reconcile myself to this new relationship with Aragorn. I wondered if I should have said anything, if I should have told him that it was Arwen I had needed to speak to, if I should have made him realize just how close I had been to making that commitment. I had just decided that I was right to have said nothing as it would have served no purpose besides increasing the tension that I wanted to decrease when I heard Arwen speak.

“Why would I hate you?” I asked, turning to face her.

“I did not realize it for many years, but I stole him from you. The way he talked about you, I thought you had been chosen for his Cuivië as you had been chosen for mine. He did not say so, of course. That was my assumption. I stopped counting how many years we were lovers, neither of us ever taking another because we had not met the right one. Would you have called me mellon if you had come to the waterfall that afternoon, Legolas? Would you have told me that you had met the right one for you?”

This could not be happening. I had struggled for so long to hide my feelings. She could not know. She was not ever supposed to know. “It does not matter what I would have said,” I told her, schooling my features to impassivity. “I did not come, but he did. You were meant to be together, that much is obvious. It was obvious even then. I will not interfere with that.”

“And so you sacrifice yourself. Do not speak; I see the answer on your face, though you try to hide it. Díhena nin, Legolas. If I had known…” Her words landed heavily on my heart, the pity in her voice coming close to breaking me. I did not want her pity. For just a second, I closed my eyes, drawing the strength I needed from the woods around me.

“Do not say it, Arwen,” I entreated her. “We were not meant to be, else he would not have fallen in love with you the way he did. Whatever we shared ended the day he met you. I have accepted that.”

“Have you really?” she asked.

I nodded, unable to speak. Unable to lie. She accepted my response, whether she believed me or not.

“Then I have a favor to ask. Ada will not let me go with you on this quest. Once again, I must stay behind, the helpless maiden with no role to play, though I am plenty capable. I wanted to be the one to watch Aragorn’s back, to care for him and comfort him as he fights the darkness, but that is not to be. I need you to take care of him for me,” she said.

“What?” I stuttered. “You are asking me to…” I could not quite finish the sentence, but I needed her to be clear.

“He has no faith in himself, mellon, and it makes him lose faith in everything else. Even in me. He wants me to leave for Valinor, to leave him here to die alone. I cannot do it, Legolas. I have told him that, but he does not believe me. I need you to keep him strong until he realizes that I will never abandon him,” she insisted. “I could not, even if I wanted to. Though no formal words have been spoken over us, we are bound, as completely as two souls can be. I know it. He just has yet to understand. He will need all the support he can find. Take care of him for me.”

“You choose vague words, Arwen,” I told her. “What do you want me to do?” I hated pushing her, but I did not want to misinterpret. I needed to know exactly what boundaries she did not want me to cross.

“Anything that is necessary,” she said calmly. “Watch his back; tend his wounds; comfort him in times of darkness.”

“Are you giving me permission…?” Again I could not finish. I was not sure I wanted to ask the question. I was not sure I wanted to know the answer.

“Be what he needs you to be, even his lover,” she replied with a piercing look, “if it becomes necessary.” I did not know if her words were a blessing or a curse, but I did know one thing. Aragorn would not believe me if I told him.

“Tell him as well. We are only just now becoming friends again. I do not want that spoiled by actions that he might misunderstand. Nor do I want to bring tension with us on this quest. There will be problems enough as it is, without a rift between Aragorn and me.”

She agreed and left me alone again, with even more questions than when she had arrived. She knew. That was the first thing I had to accept. I had not confirmed her suspicions, but she was astute enough to understand what I did not say. I pondered the implications of her knowing for a moment. Did it change anything between us? I did not think so. Certainly, it changed nothing on my part. She had not known of my feelings when she met Aragorn, so I had never blamed her for my loss. As I had told Elrohir, I did not poach, and she seemed to understand that, so knowing that I had loved Aragorn should not change her attitude toward me. Unless it moved her to pity. If that happened, I would just have to correct it then. I could live with many things, but having her pity me for loving her mate was one thing I could not stand.

Then, I thought ahead to the quest that was facing us. Could I do what Arwen asked? I could easily protect Aragorn’s back in battle. I would have done that even had she not asked. After all, I did not want to see my love – my friend, I corrected myself – killed. The rest was where problems could arise. She wanted me to tend to his wounds, to counter his doubts, to comfort him and ease his fears. That required more than simply being a warrior at his side. I understood the disposition of power within our fellowship. Frodo, as the Ringbearer, was the nominal leader, for it was his quest, but he had not the experience. We would follow Gandalf. Aragorn and I, Boromir and Gimli, were the shield around the Ringbearer, the brawn needed to protect him and ensure that he succeeded. We would do that easily. I knew of Aragorn’s experience. Boromir’s and Gimli’s miens spoke as loudly as words of their battle-readiness. No, the problem came if I had to be more to Aragorn than just a fellow soldier. A friend could take certain liberties, ask certain questions, but only with at least tacit approval. Arwen was asking me to take those liberties with or without Aragorn’s permission, to treat him not just as a friend, but as a brother. Or as a lover. If we had never been lovers, I would have been able to treat him as a brother, on the basis of his Elvish upbringing. But we had been lovers. Any intimacy, however slight, would be a reminder of those times. Even caring for any wound he might receive. His caring for my wound had played a role in our courtship. By Elbereth, this was complicated. Yet how could I refuse Arwen? She would worry enough as it was, being separated from Aragorn, knowing he was undertaking such a perilous journey. My refusal would add to her suffering as she thought of Aragorn facing the challenges of the quest basically alone. I was still hurt enough by Aragorn’s choosing Arwen, though the feelings were fading, to wish I could let him go on alone, but I would never be able to act on those feelings. For her sake. And, if I was honest, for his. Even knowing she had made her choice, I still loved her. Nothing seemed able to touch my feelings for either one of them. Not permanently. I would do as she asked, though I did not know how I would survive the heartbreak it would inevitably bring.

Elvish translations

Ernil-neth – young prince

Gwedeir – brothers

Mae govannen – well met

Chapter 64

As I had the previous night, I spent that night in the woods, gathering the strength I would need for what lay ahead. I hoped I was not drawing too much, trying to keep my father’s warnings in mind, but the conversations of that afternoon had left me completely drained. More so than at any time since Aragorn had left me for Arwen. When Arien’s rays turned the sky to blush, I returned to my rooms in Imladris and picked up my gear. Then, I sought out Erestor, hoping for a private word before we left. I caught him just as he was leaving his room.

“A word, Master Erestor,” I called when I saw him.

“Mae govannen, ernil-neth. What can I do for you this morning?” he replied with a smile.

“Is there any way to strengthen a person’s resistance to the Ring? We are going to be living with it, day after day, until it can be destroyed. I know my history. It will try to seduce us, one by one, until we are lost to its power. What can we do to stop that?” I asked.

“No one knows for sure, but some have suggested that the Ring cannot control a heart filled with love. The stronger the love, the greater the resistance to the Ring. That is the theory, at least. It has never really been proven,” Erestor answered.

I thanked him and walked away, pondering what he had said. A heart filled with love. If the theory was right, I mused, Aragorn should be proof against the Ring, as long as his doubts did not weaken him. I wondered if my own unrequited love would shield me or if it would make me more vulnerable. I knew nothing about the hearts of my other companions. I only hoped that they would not succumb. 

A scant hour later, we were all gathered in the courtyard of Imladris, packs attached to the hardy pony that the Hobbits had brought with them from Bree. All of Rivendell had turned out to see us off, it seemed. I noticed that Arwen wore the circlet that denoted her rank as I met her eyes across the courtyard. She wore it so rarely that it was a shock to see. I wondered what signal she was sending by choosing to wear it, that day of all days. As we waited for the blessing to leave, my eyes asked silently if she had spoken with Aragorn. She nodded slightly in response to my question. I could not help but notice the dejected expression on her face. It appeared that she had not convinced Aragorn of the finality of her decision.

Then Elrond stepped to the front of the gathering, every inch the Lord of Imladris in that moment. He faced us, the members of the Fellowship, spread in a loose horseshoe around Frodo. “The Ringbearer is setting out on a quest of Mount Doom,” he announced solemnly. “On you who travel with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go farther than you will.” I watched as Arwen met Aragorn’s eyes. Their gazes held for a moment, Arwen’s gaze pleading, Aragorn’s set.

“Farewell,” Elrond continued. “Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you.” I saluted Elrond, arm across my chest, head bowing as he spoke. I saw Aragorn doing the same out of the corner of my eye. 

There was a pause, when no one moved. Then, Gandalf spoke. “The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer.”

Frodo turned from his place at the center of the semi-circle and moved slowly toward the gate leading out of the courtyard. He walked timidly, as if in a dream. Gandalf fell in behind him, Gimli, Boromir, and the other Hobbits doing the same. As Frodo passed through the gate, I heard him whisper, “Mordor, Gandalf? Is it left or right?”

I repressed a smile at his innocence. “Left,” Gandalf replied softly. As I took my place, I saw Aragorn hesitate. He met Arwen’s gaze one last time, anguish and desire warring in his eyes. He inclined his head slowly, a final good-bye to the one he loved and was leaving. Her eyes fell as he turned to leave, hiding tears that she would not shed until she was alone. I wanted to hurt Aragorn in that moment for leaving her like that. Not for leaving – we had to undertake this quest – but for leaving her in doubt and in pain. She believed in him. Why could he not believe in himself? I never learned the answer to that question, though I asked it many times. In the end, it did not matter. He did what needed to be done, despite his doubts.

We traveled slowly that first day. At least it seemed slow to me, but I was used to traveling with Elves, with trained warriors whose strength and stamina matched my own. My companions were not Elves, this time, but Hobbits and Men and a Dwarf. The Hobbits, in particular, could not maintain an Elvish pace. Still, we put some distance between ourselves and Imladris before making camp for the night. 

We settled into a routine over the first few days. Sam was quickly designated to prepare the evening meal, with whatever we had caught that day, or from the stores packed on the pony’s back. Gimli, Boromir, Aragorn, and I shared the watch at night, though Gandalf often remained awake through the first watch at least. We began working with the Hobbits, teaching them at least the basics of swordplay, though we hoped to avoid danger rather than facing it. Still, they needed to know enough to defend themselves and to not endanger those around them. They were funny to watch at first, as they struggled to hold their swords, to wield them with any degree of familiarity. 

“Arwen said she spoke with you,” Aragorn said suddenly as we changed watch one night. I had been about to settle in my bedroll to rest for the remainder of the night, but I sat back down next to him instead.

“We had a few minutes to talk the night before we left,” I replied, not sure exactly where the conversation was going. “She was worried about the journey.”

“Worried about me, you mean,” he countered.

“And why should she not be?” I asked. “She loves you. She has the right to worry.”

“She told you to take care of me, like I was a child who could not look after himself,” he answered.

“She asked me to watch your back in battle, to keep you from risking your life needlessly, and to be your friend when you needed one,” I told him calmly. I really did not want to be having this conversation with him. “What is so objectionable about that?”

He did not answer me for so long that I began to wonder if he would answer. “She implied that we should be lovers again,” he said in a soft voice.

“How strange,” I answered, as if the same thought had not crossed my mind upon hearing Arwen’s words. “She said no such thing to me. She said only that I should comfort you as you needed. You have a lover. I do not think you need another one.”

Arwen had given permission, but that did not mean she was encouraging us to renew our old relationship. I did not know what words she had used with Aragorn, but she had told me clearly if it becomes necessary. I would just have to make sure it did not become necessary. I did not want to be an accessory to an already complete relationship. I could never be more than an outsider to their love and I had wanted so much more than that. I had wanted a lifetime with either one of them. They had a lifetime with each other instead.

“I do not want another one,” he snapped. That hurt, but I tried not to let it show. “Why would she say such a thing?”

“Have you thought about what we are doing here?” I asked Aragorn. “Really thought about it? We are walking to Mordor, just the nine of us, four warriors, four Hobbits and a wizard. Against all the force of Mordor. This quest will demand everything we have, and more. The only hope we have of succeeding is to rely on each other, to stay true to each other. I will need you, your support, your friendship as we do this, and I will offer you the same in return. Arwen understood what would be needed. She is a warrior, too. She wanted us both to understand that she did not want to stand in the way of our doing what we need to do to survive.”

“Sometimes I wonder if this is not just a fool’s errand,” Aragorn sighed.

“Perhaps it is, but any other course would have been even more foolish. We have to do this. We have to find a way to bring Frodo safely to Mount Doom, and to do that, we have to rely on each other.” I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should tell him what Erestor had said. I finally decided that it could not hurt. “I spoke to Erestor before we left, hoping that he would know of a way to resist the temptation of the Ring.”

“And did he have any advice?” Aragorn asked.

“The only theory he knew of said that a heart full of love could resist the Ring better than a barren one. There are many kinds of love, Aragorn, and we will need them all if we are to do this. I have called Elrohir and Elladan gwedeir for many, many years. Let me be that for you as well. Let me watch your back, be your friend, and support you in any way I can, and do the same for me. We will deal with the rest later. Will you do that?”

I put my hand on his shoulder, my half of a warrior’s embrace, and I waited. Would he return the gesture, or would he reject even my offer of friendship? Slowly, his hand rose to my shoulder, completing the circle, the bond that never broke between us, even when we spoke in anger or fear.

Elvish translations

Gwador – brother

Chapter 65

I quickly fell into the role of scout, being able to travel farther and faster than my companions, my senses stretching beyond the limits of theirs, while Aragorn was the rear guard, his training and time as a Ranger giving him a greater awareness of nature’s signals than any besides an Elf. We counted on the secrecy of our journey to protect us. If Sauron did not know where we were traveling, he could not send his minions against us. We were passing through Hollin, two weeks into our journey, when we had the first sense that our quest was not as secret as we hoped.

We had camped amid the scrub at the crest of a rocky hill, the sight giving us both cover if we needed it and a view of our surroundings. It was a good campsite, and we had stopped early, to give the Hobbits a rest and to give Boromir time to continue their lessons. Sam and Frodo, as usual, were making dinner and watching Boromir tutor Merry and Pippin with the sword. Aragorn looked on, offering advice from time to time. Gimli sat behind me, grumbling, also as usual.

“We must hold to this course west of the Misty Mountains for forty days. If our luck holds, the Gap of Rohan will still be open to us. From there, our road turns east. To Mordor.” I listened vaguely as Gandalf spoke. I could not identify yet what it was, but I could sense a threat on the wind. I closed my eyes to focus my other senses, but the scrub around us could not offer any useful information. I opened my eyes again, scanning the far horizons, trying to see anything that could constitute a danger to us.

“Two, one, five. Good, very good,” Boromir called to Pippin as he worked with him on swordplay.

“Move your feet,” Aragorn advised them around the pipe in his mouth. That was a new habit, at least new to me. Just one of the things that had changed since we wandered the wilds together so many years ago.

“You’ve got good, Pippin,” Merry commented.

“Thanks,” Pippin replied.

“Faster.”

“If anyone was to ask for my opinion, which I note they’re not, I’d say we were taking the long way round. Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome.” Gimli’s gruff voice caught my attention. Moria. The joint work of Elves and Dwarves, at least in the beginning, taken over by foul creatures, though Gimli claimed his cousin had reclaimed it. I shuddered at the thought. I was a wood-Elf, a creature of the wind and stars and sky. I devoutly hoped we would not take that road. I did not know how I would survive, cut off from all that strengthened me.

“No, Gimli, I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice.” Gandalf’s answer relieved one worry, at least. Moria was not his destination of choice either. I rose, as they spoke, moving to the edge of the hill.

Gandalf and Gimli fell silent then, and I turned my thoughts again to seeking the source of my unease. I could still hear the clanging of the swords, but other thoughts prevailed as I concentrated on a shadow, just above the horizon.

Boromir misjudged his stroke or the Hobbits’ prowess and landed an unintentional blow on Pippin’s hand. He apologized profusely as he approached the two Halflings. They launched themselves playfully at Boromir, yelling “For the Shire.” They brought Boromir down amid much laughter. It was good to hear, the camaraderie that was developing between them. I did not know the state of Boromir’s heart, whether he had a love left behind in Gondor, but I hoped that friendship would help to be a buffer against the power of the Ring, if Erestor was indeed right. 

“Gentlemen, that’s enough,” Aragorn said, moving to break up their mock battle. As he reached for Merry’s and Pippin’s coats, they each grabbed a leg and upturned him, flipping him onto his back, eliciting chuckles from the rest of the company. 

I was aware of all of this, even smiling at Aragorn’s misfortune, but it did not distract me from my search. Something was out there, something that posed a threat to my friends and our quest. I had to identify it, to counter it, before it could harm anyone. Just as I located the source of the threat, I heard Sam’s voice.

“What is that?” he asked, noticing the same shadow on the horizon that had just caught my attention. 

“Nothing. Just a wisp of cloud,” Gimli announced, obviously unconcerned.

“It’s moving fast,” Boromir observed, “against the wind.”

I focused all that I was on that shadow, stretching my senses to their limits, blocking out everything else. And I knew.

“Crebain from Dunland,” I called, having finally identified both the shadow on the horizon and the threat I had been sensing.

“Hide,” Aragorn yelled.

“Merry, Frodo, take cover,” Boromir added

We grabbed our packs, putting out the fire and doing our best to erase the traces of our presence, diving under rock and bush to hide. We had barely secreted ourselves in the meager cover when the flock of birds flew overhead. I watched them, anger in my heart at the way Sauron had corrupted even such creatures as these to his aid.

When the foul creatures had flown on, we broke cover, each wondering what their appearance meant for our quest.

“Spies of Saruman,” Gandalf intoned gravely. So I had been wrong. Saruman, not Sauron, was the corrupting influence in this part of Arda. “The passage south is being watched. We must take the pass of Caradhras.” 

I looked up at the mountain above us, not sure it was an improvement. The mountain was known for having a mind of its own. Furthermore, it was December. The snows would have already started on the heights. Still, I trusted Gandalf. If he believed that we could no longer travel safely toward Isengard, then we needed to find another route. And if our choices were Caradhras or Moria, I would face the mountain rather than the mines. I had never met Saruman, but I knew of him from my father’s tales. Like Gandalf and Radagast, he was an Istari, the head of the Order, the most powerful wizard in Arda. And he had turned against his former friends and allies, aligning himself instead with Sauron. I had no desire to meet him face to face. The stories said that his voice could hypnotize even the strong-willed, bending them to his will. We were already being battered by the temptation of the Ring. We did not need another assault on our hearts and minds. In the morning, we would brave the mountain.

As I stood my watch that night, Aragorn came and sat beside me, pipe in hand. I could smell the leather of his duster, the scent of his sweat, all overlaid by the lingering odor of his pipe. 

“When did you develop that habit?” I asked in Elvish since we were alone. I had spoken mostly Westron with him on our quest, out of respect for the others. I knew Frodo understood at least some Elvish, as did Gandalf, obviously, but the others did not. We had enough tension between us as we learned to work together. I did not want to add to it by excluding anyone from our conversations. With the others asleep, though, it did not matter, and we lapsed back into the language that we had always used together.

Aragorn laughed, one of the few genuine laughs I had heard from him since we left Imladris. “While traveling near the Shire, many years ago,” he answered. I could hear the smile in his voice. “They grow the best pipeweed there,” he told me. “You should try it.”

I sniffed the smoke, testing its odor and texture. I could not stop the moue of disgust that turned down my lips. “Nay,” I replied. “I will leave that pleasure to mortals,” I teased.

He chuckled in response, a good sign, I thought. Perhaps we would be able to be friends again.

“I worry about what is to come,” he said softly, head turning toward the mountain that loomed above us.

“Caradhras?” I asked.

“That and all the rest. Those birds should not have been able to find us today, hidden as we were, yet I am convinced that they did, that their master knows now where we are. And if Gandalf is right, and they spy for Saruman, then he can guess our plans. What other traps will he have in store for us? The Ring attracts evil,” Aragorn told me. “I worry what it will draw out of us, that somehow it will turn even our strengths against us.”

“We must guard against that,” I agreed, “each of us helping the other. I fear for the Hobbits the most.”

“They may yet surprise you,” Aragorn disagreed. “In the long history of the Ring, only one being has ever let it go willingly: a Hobbit. Frodo has no power in this world and no ambition to gain any. Hobbits are like that, taking pleasure in simple things and simple joys. They may not be great warriors, but their hearts know no bounds. Boromir covets the Ring. He wanted it for Gondor. He has resisted so far. I pray he will continue.”

“We will watch him,” I vowed. “We promised to protect Frodo. At the expense of our lives, if necessary, and we will keep our promise.” I hesitated just for a second. “Gwador.”

He smiled and clapped a hand on my shoulder before rising. “I should get some rest before my watch,” he said. “Gwador.” I kept my eyes ahead, focused on my watch, forcing myself not to watch as he settled himself for the night. Memories assailed me, of other nights of sharing watch, and all that transpired after. The night was chill, though not freezing, and I wistfully imagined sharing a bedroll again. I did not offer. The night was not that cold, and I did not want to push Aragorn. We were only just finding our footing again. I feared upsetting the balance. 


	14. Chapters 66-70

Chapter 66

We began our ascent to Caradhras the next morning, climbing steadily. Soon, the others had searched out their winter cloaks, pulling them over their tunics and coats. The cold did not affect me, any more than the heat did in the summer, but I could tell it was affecting my friends. The Hobbits, in particular, were having trouble in the snow. They did their best to walk in the footsteps of those ahead of them, but even Gimli’s stride was longer than theirs, leaving them to struggle on their own as often as not. We were halfway up the mountain, on the second day of our climb, making visible, if slow progress, when Frodo lost his footing and tumbled down the mountain. Aragorn, in the rear as always, caught him, steadying him and helping him to stand. Frodo’s hand went convulsively to his neck, searching for the chain that held the Ring. He found nothing. The chain had come off, leaving the Ring lying in the snow, halfway between Aragorn and Boromir. 

Boromir walked back down the hill and picked up the chain.

“Boromir,” Aragorn called, trying to distract the other Man before the Ring could begin to work its temptation. 

“It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt for so small a thing,” he mused. “Such a little thing.” I could almost see it as I watched. I could sense the evil in the Ring reaching out, entwining itself in Borormir’s heart and mind. Aragorn’s words from the night before came back to me as the scene unfolded before me.

“Boromir,” Aragorn called again. Though it was subtle, I saw as well the change that came over Aragorn. His muscles tensed, and behind Frodo’s back, his hand closed around the hilt of his sword. He had not drawn it yet, hoping that this could be resolved without breaking the Fellowship. “Give the Ring to Frodo,” he ordered.

Boromir jerked then, as if suddenly released from some invisible bond. As he walked toward Frodo, the chain still clutched in his hand, I let my own hand rest on the hilt of one of my knives. I did not know what would be the outcome of a battle between Aragorn and Boromir, but I had promised Arwen to watch Aragorn’s back. If it came to a fight, I was leaving nothing to chance. Boromir would fall to my knife in his back before he ever had a chance to harm Aragorn. Or Frodo.

The wind whistled around us as Boromir approached, the tension in the air so thick that it held us all motionless.

“As you wish,” he said with false joviality. Frodo snatched the Ring from Boromir’s hand as soon as he was close enough, never moving from his protected place by Aragorn’s side. “I care not.”

Aragorn and Boromir stared at each other for a long moment before Boromir forced a smile and a laugh, ruffling Frodo’s hair, dislodging the snow from his fall. As he turned away and started back up the hill, I could see Aragorn relax, releasing his grip on his sword. I let my hand fall from my knife. We had survived the first test. It remained to be seen if we could survive the rest.

There was no wood that night to build a fire. We huddled together under an overhang, barely sheltered from the biting wind. I did not worry that night about what Aragorn might think as I pressed up against him, trying to share the heat of my body. Boromir sat tight against his other side, Gandalf next to me, and Gimli completing the circle. The Hobbits sheltered between us all, cloaks and blankets wrapped tightly around our bodies. As the night wore on, Aragorn scooted even closer, his body seeking the heat of mine in his sleep. My heart whimpered, but I pulled him against me nonetheless. Arwen had charged me with making sure Aragorn survived this quest. That meant keeping him from dying of hypothermia as surely as it meant protecting his back in battle.

We struggled up the mountain again the next day, fighting wind and snow as we climbed. Gandalf did his best to clear a path, but even then, Aragorn and Boromir were practically carrying the Hobbits, so rough had the way become. I scouted ahead, my feet not even sinking into the snow. We had just reached a narrow ledge, the next challenge in our path when I heard the murmured echo of words on the wind. I listened carefully, trying to identify the sound, the source of the voice, anything that would tell me whether this was a new threat we were facing. Finally, I was able to pick out two words: “nwalca” and “rasselva.” Cruel and bloodstained. “There is a fell voice on the air,” I warned my friends.

Gandalf immediately turned his own focus to the sounds. “It is Saruman.” Even as he spoke, rock and snow from the cliff above came tumbling down toward us. We threw ourselves against the cliff, out of the path of the avalanche.

“He’s trying to bring down the mountain!” Aragorn shouted over the sound of the falling snow and wind. “Gandalf, we must turn back!”

“No!” Gandalf replied vehemently, stepping forward and beginning to chant. “Losto Caradhras, sedho, hodo, nuitho i 'ruith!” He was trying to calm the mountain, to send it back to sleep.

The counterspell boomed back, almost before Gandalf could finish.

“Cuiva nwalca Carnirasse; Nai yarvaxea rasselya; taltuva notto-carinnar!” The words chilled me to the bone. “Wake up, cruel Redhorn!” he had said. “May your bloodstained horn fall upon enemy heads!” As the words echoed around us, lightning stuck the top of the mountain, sending a second avalanche down upon us. I grabbed Gandalf, pulling him away from the edge as the snow buried us. As soon as the tumult calmed, I pulled myself out of the snow, helping Gimli out as well. The others were struggling to do the same

“We must get off the mountain! Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the west road to my city!” Boromir urged, holding Merry and Pippin close against him.

“The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!” Aragorn protested.

“If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it. Let us go through the Mines of Moria,” Gimli suggested. There seemed to be no good solution to our dilemma. I certainly did not want to go into Moria, but after this display of Saruman’s power, I had no desire to pass closer to his reach either. I looked at Gandalf, who was struggling to make a decision.

Finally, he spoke. “Let the Ringbearer decide.”

Absolute silence. Frodo looked completely unsure of what decision to make. I did not blame him. Those he normally looked to for counsel were all looking at him. He had three choices, if continuing across Caradhras could be considered an option, and all of them were fraught with danger.

Boromir’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “We cannot stay here. This will be the death of the Hobbits!” 

“Frodo?” Gandalf prompted.

Frodo looked at each face, his cousins and friends still sheltered in Boromir’s arms, Sam who was next to him, Aragorn behind him, Gandalf and Gimli, and finally at me. We all waited expectantly, offering no arguments. The choice was his and we would abide by it.

“We will go through the mines,” he said as firmly as he could. Even then, it sounded hesitant.

“So be it,” Gandalf replied, gesturing for us to return the way we had come.

Elvish translations

Hannon chen – thank you

Chapter 67

Almost as soon as we turned back to retrace our steps, the wind calmed and the snowfall slackened. I was tempted to suggest trying again, if only to see if Saruman was still watching, but the Fellowship had made a decision. However difficult the next few days would prove for me, I would abide by the will of the company. 

We traveled as far as we could before nightfall, stopping to camp amid a circle of rocks and trees where we hoped to find some shelter from the elements that, though less harsh than atop Caradhras, were nonetheless still dangerous to my mortal companions.

As we set up camp and prepared our meal, we talked of the day’s events and our plans for the next day. “Saruman obviously knows that we have set out and that we hoped to take the pass of Caradhras,” Aragorn observed. “How much danger does that knowledge pose?”

“Saruman is many things,” Gandalf answered, “powerful, cunning, and now, under Sauron’s sway. He is not, however, infallible. He will not be able to touch us in Moria, for we will be away from the clouds and the wind which he can control. Moria is not without its own dangers, but Saruman cannot influence those.”

“When we leave Moria,” I added, “we will be only a day’s journey from Lórien. None can touch us there.”

“None but the Elf witch,” Gimli muttered under his breath. I started to speak, to defend the Lady of the Golden Wood, but Boromir interrupted me. 

“How far is Moria?” he asked, obviously worried about what was ahead.

“There was a door south-west of Caradhras, some fifteen miles as the crow flies. If we leave at first light, we should reach it by nightfall tomorrow,” Gandalf replied. Arien had set, and the light was fading quickly. We doused the fire so as not to reveal our position to any that might be watching.

I had just taken up my watch when Aragorn came to stand beside me. “How the wind howls,” he muttered. “It is the howling of wolf-voices. The Wargs have come west of the mountains,” he warned me in Elvish, not wanting to upset the Hobbits who were trying to sleep nearby. I nodded, accepting his warning. Though it was not his watch, he settled himself on the opposite side of the camp, as alert as I was. Bill the pony shifted restlessly, obviously upset by the sounds, though none of the Fellowship seemed to be resting easily. The sounds grew nearer in the night, as the pack searched for our scent. I nocked an arrow in my bow and waited, senses alert for any sign that they had found us and were ready to begin their attack.

As my watch wore on, I could see shining eyes peering over the brow of the hill, approaching and retreating from the circle of stones, almost as if they were testing our defenses. A great dark wolf-shape appeared at a gap in the circle, eyes glowing as it focused on me. It let loose a terrible shriek, almost as if calling its fellows. I waited no more, loosing an arrow with a sharp twang of my bow. My aim was true, and the leaping shape thudded to the ground, my arrow having pierced its throat. I moved forward cautiously to investigate. Aragorn had been right. The Wargs had come west, and this pack, at least, was hunting us. “The others will come,” Aragorn said softly, coming to stand beside me. 

“And we will be ready,” I replied, setting another arrow to the string. He had his own bow in hand, sword buckled around his waist. 

“That we will,” he agreed, hand coming to rest for a moment on my shoulder. I drew more strength from that simple touch that I ever could from the trees around us. Then he released me, returning to his spot. 

I knew the Warg had not been alone, so I stretched my senses as far as I could, even asking the forest around us for information. These trees were not so friendly as the ones in the woods at home. They had not known Elves for many an age and were not inclined to talk. Still, I could sense the pack of Wargs moving closer, even without their active assistance. 

When the attack came, silently, I was ready, shouting an alarm to my companions as I fired, my bow singing as I dispatched arrow after arrow into the attacking beasts. Behind me, I could hear the sounds of battle, the dull thud of Aragorn’s and Boromir’s swords as they made contact with animal flesh, Gimli’s shouts and grunts as he wielded his axe. I circled around as I fought, trying to find Aragorn out of the corner of my eye. Though I knew him to be a capable warrior, I was very conscious of my promise to Arwen. I did not need to fight beside him, only to keep him in sight so I could intervene if he needed my help. Then, from nowhere, came a great flash of light and Gandalf’s voice, resounding like thunder. “Naur an edraith ammen! Naur dan i ngaurhoth!” he cried, calling down fire. And the trees burned brightly around us. Even the arrows that I shot caught fire before they landed in the hearts of my targets. The Wargs turned and fled.

Slowly the fire burned itself out. Little was left of the night, by then, but none of us dared sleep. We had routed the pack for the moment, but that did not mean they would not return. I could see the Hobbits staring at Gandalf with a mixture of fear and awe. This was a side of him they had clearly never seen before. I had always smiled a little at the picture he presented to the world, an old, unprepossessing man dressed all in grey, with a grey beard, an easy laugh, and a twinkle in his eye. Few, if any, seeing him, would realize the full extent of his power. I wondered, as we sat there, if I even had any idea of its full extent. Nothing I had seen him do so far had surprised me, but I did not know if these displays were the limit of his abilities.

My gaze wandered to the other warriors in our little band. Aragorn’s skills I knew almost as well as my own. We had trained with the same swordmaster and had fought side by side, though it was years ago. I knew from Arwen that he had fought in two armies since then. If anything, his skills would be greater now than when we had fought together before. Prior to that night, the other two had been unknowns to me. Boromir was the son of the Steward of Gondor, so I was sure he had been trained to fight. His stance and his gait had suggested it. Having seen him in battle, I knew that he would be an asset to our quest. Gimli was the biggest surprise to me. I had never seen Dwarves fight before, and I had doubted how much help he would be in battle, given his short stature. I had underestimated him. He had stood firmly during the battle, swinging his axe with deadly precision, bringing down as many Wargs as Boromir had. Thus began my respect for the Dwarf. The friendship came later.

“They will never stop hunting us,” Aragorn commented, coming to sit beside me.

“Nay,” I agreed, “but we can hope that our path will stop them for us. They will not follow us into Moria.”

“I wonder at the wisdom of our road,” he told me softly.

“As do I,” I said, “but I am not sure we had any other choice. You said yourself that the Gap of Rohan would take us too close to Isengard, and any other path would lead us so far out of our way that we would lose whatever advantage we have in speed and secrecy. Saruman knows we have left Rivendell, but Sauron may not yet, and none know our destination. If only we survive Moria.”

“You fear it,” Aragorn observed, surprised. “Why?”

His question caught me off guard. The answer was simple enough. I feared that my strength would fail without the trees to support me and that my feelings, the grief and loss that I still felt, even after all these years, would overwhelm me. I feared to return to the nights when using my knife to end my torment seemed easier than living to face the dawn. I could not, however, tell that to Aragorn. He had never known the true extent of my feelings for him and he believed that I had long since gotten over whatever feelings I had had. It was not the time to tell him otherwise. I did not know if there would ever be a good time to tell him that I still loved him and always would, but I did know that the middle of this quest was not that time. Still, he was waiting for an answer. I gave him the most truthful answer I could.

“I am a wood-Elf, Aragorn. I need the trees and the wind and the sky to survive. I do not know how long I will be able to function without them. Four days seems like such a short time, yet how long could you go without breathing? The touch of the wind, the song of the trees are as essential to me as air or water. I do not know what I will do without them,” I explained.

“I will help you if I can,” he assured me.

“Hannon chen,” I replied, thinking that perhaps he could help me. I only hoped that accepting his help would not reveal the shattered state of my heart. 

Chapter 68

When dawn came, we were shocked to see no signs of the night’s battle except for the charred trees and my fallen arrows. Though we could not explain it, no traces of the Wargs were to be found. Footprints aplenty, but no carcasses. I shivered at their absence, much more so than I would have seeing the dead bodies in the light of day. This was more of Saruman’s magic, it seemed to me, though I spoke of it not.

We gathered our gear, eager to be away from the disturbing sight. We marched all day, eating lunch on the move and stopping only briefly for dinner before continuing. We could see the cliffs that were our destination. We just had to reach them before nightfall, if we could. All day, the howling of the Wargs had sounded in the distance. If we had to camp outside, we would surely face them again. And this time, they would know what to expect from us. I did not know what they could do against Gandalf’s magic, but I, for one, did not want to risk it. So I urged the Hobbits on, trying to keep up their spirits even when I could see their bodies starting to tire. 

I knew the cliffs had to be immense for us to have seen them most of the day, but I was still unprepared for their size as we followed the Sirannon toward the doors of Durin that Gandalf said would be found in the cliffs. Night was falling, but Ithil had not yet risen, leaving us in an unnerving half-darkness that even my Elf eyes had trouble penetrating. The water was foul, and the trees, though old, seemed stricken, having barely enough strength to keep themselves alive, with none to spare for me. As we approached the murky lake at the base of the rock walls, I heard Gandalf call Frodo to his side.

“Frodo, come and help an old man.” Under other circumstances, I would have smiled at those words, for although Gandalf bore the guise of an old man, he had more strength and vitality than the rest of us combined. I could not hear their conversation, catching only snippets of words. The last, though, I heard clearly enough. “

“And against some I have not yet been tested.” A shiver ran through me at the thought of what might be powerful enough to test an Istari like Gandalf. I could think of only a few things, none of them good.

“Dwarf doors are invisible when closed,” Gimli announced as we reached the base of the cliffs. He began tapping the rock with his axe, listening for a particular resonance that would indicate a passage behind the rock, I later learned. At the time, it seemed only another oddity in a creature who was entirely too odd for my liking. I had heard tales of Dwarves, none of them flattering, and other than Gimli’s prowess in battle the night before, I had seen nothing to change my mind. In all fairness to my friend, I had not been watching for anything to change my opinion.

“Yes, Gimli, their own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgotten,” Gandalf agreed.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I muttered under my breath, ignoring his growl of displeasure. I can only blame the oppressive atmosphere of the unclean lake and stunted trees, and my worry over our impending entry into Moria, for my crass comment. I knew that Dwarves were secretive, but that did not excuse such a comment. The dark look Gimli sent me made me feel guilty immediately, but I was not yet ready to ask forgiveness from a Dwarf.

We made our way along the wall as Gandalf searched for some sign. I heard a tiny splash and Frodo’s gasp as he lost his footing and stepped into the lake. I turned around sharply, but he had regained his balance and was moving on. That pleased me, as I had no desire to dive into the fetid water after him. I would have, of course, had it been necessary. I was just relieved that it did not happen.

“Now, let’s see. Ithildin. It mirrors only starlight and moonlight,” Gandalf said absentmindedly, looking up at the sky. Ithil had just come out from behind a cloud. As it did, the lines of the doors shone in the darkness. At the top was an arch of interlacing Elvish letters, with the outline of an anvil and a hammer surmounted by a crown of seven stars just beneath. Under that were two trees, each bearing crescent moons, and in the center, a single star with many rays. I recognized the tree of the High Elves right away, and the Star of the House of Fëanor. Gimli later told me that the anvil and hammer were the emblems of Durin.

Even as I read the words in silence, Gandalf read them aloud. “It reads ‘The doors of Durin - Lord of Moria. Speak friend and enter.’” At the bottom, though Gandalf read them not, I could make out the words “I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs.” It seemed that Elves and Dwarves had indeed been friends once. That reminder made me resolve to curb my tongue and to treat Gimli as an individual, not as a representative of a race I had been taught to distrust.

“What do you suppose that means?” Merry asked. What did what mean? I wondered. Then I realized Merry was still thinking about Gandalf’s words.

“Oh, it’s quite simple,” Gandalf told him. “If you are a friend you speak the password and the doors will open.” Simple indeed, if you knew the password. I hoped Gandalf had an idea, because Gimli had never been here before.

“Annon Edhellen edro hi ammen!” he intoned gravely. Gate of the Elves open now for us! It sounded like a good command to me, but the doors did not move.

Gandalf spoke again, “Fennas nogothrim, lasto beth lammen.”

“Nothing’s happening,” Merry commented. I shared a look with Merry, not daring to hope that Gandalf would be unable to open the doors. If he could not, that meant passing near to Isengard or through other dangerous country. This way, at least, we had four days of darkness and then Lórien.

Gandalf sighed in frustration, “I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves and Men and Orcs,” he muttered in frustration, pushing against the doors.

“What are you going to do then?” Pippin asked.

“Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took, and if that does not shatter them and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words,” he snapped. I shared a comforting look with Pippin. The poor Hobbit was young, not even past his majority if I understood the ways of Hobbits correctly. He did not really deserve Gandalf’s anger. Not that time, anyway.

As we waited, Aragorn stripped the bridle from Bill, distributing the supplies the pony had carried among us. “The mines are no place for a pony, even one so brave as Bill,” he told Sam softly. I could see the concern for his friend in Sam’s eyes, but he understood that Aragorn was right. “Go on, Bill, go on,” Aragorn encouraged. “Don’t worry, Sam, he knows the way home.” My beloved Ranger, worried about the well-being of a Halfling and his pony. How could I not love such a wonderful Man? 

I lost myself for a few minutes in the memories of our times together, before I had ruined things with my pride and silence. The sound of stones hitting water brought me back to the present. Pippin raised his hand, obviously about to throw another stone when Aragorn caught his arm. “Do not disturb the water,” Aragorn ordered.

As Aragorn spoke, Gandalf threw his staff to the ground, pulled off his hat and slumped on the rocks near Frodo, at the base of a withered tree, frustration clear in every gesture. “Oh, it’s useless!” he exclaimed. Aragorn and Boromir studied the ripples in the water with growing concern. I turned my attention that way as well. If we were to face a new threat, I wanted to be ready.

To my surprise, Frodo stood up suddenly. “It’s a riddle. Speak “friend” and enter. What’s the Elvish word for friend?”

“Mellon,” Gandalf said in his powerful voice. Slowly, slowly, the door began to open. I could see the surprise on the faces of my companions. We gathered our packs and entered Moria

Gimli was almost jovial at the thought of seeing his cousin again. “Soon, master Elf you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves,” he told me as we passed the doors. “Roaring fires, malt beer, red meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin Balin. And they call it a mine. A mine!” Malt beer was not my favorite drink, but if the Dwarves had succeeded in retaking Moria, I would gladly lift a glass in celebration of avoiding the dark. It did not seem likely, though, as we entered the murky halls. No lamps or torches greeted us, no Dwarvish sentinel or gatekeeper to challenge our way or send news ahead of our arrival. All that met the eye was the decayed bodies of dead Dwarves.

“This is no mine, it’s a tomb!” Boromir exclaimed.

“Oh! No! Nooo!!!” Gimli cried, rushing to the fallen bodies. I wanted to comfort him, but it was not the time. I grabbed one of the arrows from a body of a fallen Dwarf and examined it carefully. As I had expected, it had all the characteristics of Orcs. Specifically, the small, scuttling variety. I threw the arrow down in disgust.

“Goblins!” I informed my friends, fitting an arrow into my bow, every sense alert for danger. Aragorn and Boromir, next to me, drew their swords.

“We make for the Gap of Rohan. We should never have come here,” Boromir said gravely. I was definitely beginning to agree with him as we backed toward the door. “Now get out of here, get out!” he cried.

Suddenly, the Hobbits’ cries turned our attention from the mines to the world outside. “Frodo!” I heard them yell, then Sam’s voice. “Strider! Get off him!” We whirled to face the new threat, whatever it was, and saw Sam hacking at a menacing tentacle that had attached itself to Frodo’s ankle. As we moved to help, a mass of tentacles came out of the water, striking the other Hobbits and pulling Frodo off the ground.

They were all shouting for help, voices crowding over one another. The arrow left my bow almost automatically, striking the tendril that held Frodo. Boromir and Aragorn rushed into the water, swords swinging with deadly precision, fending off the tentacles that flailed at them, moving steadily toward the one holding Frodo overhead. I fired again, and again, trying to help as best as I could. My long knives would have been useless against the thick arms of the creature, so my bow was my best defense. Finally, Aragorn reached the tentacle that held Frodo, severing it so that Frodo fell into Boromir’s waiting arms. As soon as Frodo was free, they rushed to shore.

“Into the Mines!” Gandalf ordered, for there was no way we could have skirted the lake and avoided the creature.

“Legolas! Aim for his eye!” Boromir shouted as he and Aragorn left the lake. It was good advice that I followed quickly. The creature pulled back, just long enough for us to pass again through the doors of Durin. Then, it surged out of the water, latching onto the doors, collapsing them and the entrance passage behind us. As we turned to view the destruction behind us, I reached out for Aragorn, my arm going around his shoulder, assuring myself that he was safe. I did not even think about my promise to Arwen in that moment. The reassurance was all for me. As the darkness around us became complete, Aragorn’s hand squeezed my forearm gently. As always, the touch was electric, steadying me while it lasted.

“We now have but one choice,” Gandalf told us, light beginning to glow at the tip of his staff. I released Aragorn, not wanting the others to see the embrace born of my moment of fear. “We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world.”

We followed him carefully deeper into the mines, skirting the corpses of Dwarves and Orcs.

“Quietly now. It’s a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed.”

As we walked, the adrenalin from the battle began to wear off, and I was confronted with what would be my reality for the next four days: unrelenting darkness, broken only by the faint light of Gandalf’s staff and one torch that Aragorn carried. I hoped indeed that our passage would go unnoticed, because for the first time in centuries, I was beginning to doubt my ability to fight. 

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Donna, Cin, and Jean who helped me get my thoughts in order.

Elvish translations

Hannon chen – thank you

Mellon nín – my friend

Chapter 69

We all stayed close together as we made our way into Moria that night. Though we had walked all day, the darkness was so oppressive that we did not want to stop. So we walked on for several hours, until sheer exhaustion forced the Hobbits to their knees. If they had not been with us, I would have begged Gandalf to keep walking, to keep pushing toward our goal. As long as we were moving, I could push back the panic that was engulfing me. When we stopped to rest, I had nothing else to occupy my mind. Only the lack of air, the lack of light, the lack of all that was green and growing, all that sustained me. Gimli did not rejoice in these walls of stone as he did later, in other caves we visited together, but I could see him examining the rock, running his fingers along the veins, almost as if he was drawing strength from the stone the way I drew it from the trees. I looked carefully around the chamber of stone where we had stopped to rest. It was easily defensible, if it came to a fight, with only two entrances. We would stand watch, but we would also take turns sleeping, if we could. Boromir and Aragorn drew first watch. The Hobbits were asleep even before such decisions could be made. Gandalf settled down quickly as well, puffing on his pipe until sleep overtook him. Gimli finished his explorations and settled down to sleep as well, more comfortable under tons of stone than he could ever be under an open sky. 

I shifted restlessly as I tried to force my mind to stillness, to reverie. To no avail. The darkness taunted me, pushing me to the edge of panic at the thought of never again seeing the sky or feeling the wind on my face. How long I sat there, trapped in a nightmare of my own creation, I do not know. I must have made a sound of distress, because suddenly Aragorn was at my side, his hand on my shoulder.

“What is it, mellon nín?” he asked. “Did you see something?”

“Nay,” I replied, switching to Elvish. Boromir, at least, was still awake, and I had no desire to share my weakness with him. I did not really want to share it with Aragorn, either, but that no longer seemed an option. “The darkness is affecting me,” I told him simply.

“It is no darker than a stormy night,” Aragorn said. “Can you not imagine that you are in a dark room on a stormy night?”

“It is a different darkness,” I countered. “On a stormy night, I would hear the wind howling in the trees or around the eaves of the house. I would feel the wind on my face or see the lightning and know that the world was alive. There is no wind here, no sound, only darkness. I feel cut off from everything and everyone I have ever known.”

“Everything, perhaps,” Aragorn replied, “but not everyone. You are among friends, Legolas. Do not forget that.” As he spoke, he placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. I grabbed onto that hand, ashamed of my panic and need, but unable to overcome it. He accepted my grip, not pulling away when I tightened my hold. Seeing that I was not regaining my equilibrium as quickly as he hoped, Aragorn squeezed my hand and said, “Wait here for a moment.” 

He rose and went to speak to Boromir. He must have told Boromir that I would take his watch, for the man nodded and went to his bedroll. Then, Aragorn returned to my side. “I did not think you wanted the others to see you like this,” he said softly.

“Hannon chen, Aragorn,” I replied, just as softly. “They would not understand.” I could tell that Aragorn did not really understand either, but he said nothing, sitting down beside me and letting me latch on to his hand again. The contact helped. At first. Then the darkness closed in around me again, pressing on my mind, leaving me wallowing in a depth of despair I had not felt since my father had taught me to draw from the trees. Out of habit, my mind reached out, searching for a source of strength to dispel the darkness in my mind, but there was nothing. I could not even touch my father’s mind, something I had been able to do since he created the link between us that had sustained me for months. I must have begun to shiver because Aragorn’s arms came around me, pulling me against him, something he had not done in almost sixty-seven years. 

“Legolas, what is going on?” he demanded. “There is more to this than you are telling me. There has to be.”

I could not answer him. Not did not want to answer him. Not chose not to answer him. I could not. My mind could not find the words, nor my tongue form them. I was caught so completely in the terror of my waking nightmare that even the touch of his body against mine, even more powerful than just the touch of his hand, could barely reach me. That contact was a double-edged sword. I had longed for the feel of his body, yet the touch was a reminder of all that I had foolishly thrown away through my own stubbornness.

The tremors increased as I struggled with myself within my mind. One detached part of my mind knew what this was: an attempt on the part of the Ring to rid itself of an obstacle to its goal. And so I struggled to throw off my despair, to rise above the two temptations of the Ring: to end my suffering or to take what I really wanted. I would not succeed in the first. Aragorn was right next to me. If I reached for my blades, he would stop me before I could hurt myself. He was right next to me. All I had to do was turn my head and our lips would meet. Arwen had given permission, the Ring whispered in my heart. I would not be betraying her if I were to kiss him again, lie with him as I had dreamed of doing so many times. That temptation was so much harder to resist. Aragorn had desired me once, even if he had never loved me. Surely his desire had not died completely. I needed only to kiss him, caress him, and it would reawaken. Arwen said he had doubted even her. Perhaps he would return to me, believing her gone.

“Legolas?” Aragorn’s voice broke through the turmoil of my mind.

“The Ring,” I answered. “It whispers to me. The darkness is bad enough. The Ring makes it torture.”

“Hold on to me,” Aragorn replied. “Focus on me.”

“I am trying,” I whispered, not telling him that the Ring was using him as a part of its temptation.

“You must fight this,” Aragorn urged.

“I will fight as long as I can,” I assured him, “but my strength is not here. I cannot feel the trees here, to reach for the energy that strengthens me.”

“Draw from me,” Aragorn offered.

“And when you weaken?” I asked.

“The Ring is crafty. Here in the darkness, you are the weakest of us all. It will focus on you while it can. Once we are out of Moria, it will choose another. If it chooses me, you will have to help me, there where you are strong.”

His offer was tempting. There was that feeling again. Temptation. While I struggled with my decision, he took charge. His hands came to rest on either side of my face, and his mouth came down on mine, a firm but gentle kiss. “Draw from me,” he repeated.

Love burst through me, shutting out the darkness of the mines and the temptation of the Ring. Nothing existed except Aragorn. “What about Arwen?” I asked.

“I love Arwen, and I always will, but she asked me to watch out for you just as she asked you to watch out for me. If you fall victim to the darkness or to the Ring, I will have failed her. I have already failed her once. I will not do it again, even if she is not there to know,” Aragorn vowed.

I was puzzled at his words for a moment. Then I remembered what Arwen had said about Aragorn wanting her to leave for Valinor. That must be the failure he was referring to. It certainly explained why he thought she would not know if he kept his promise. I also remembered her telling me that she would not leave Aragorn, regardless of his doubts. That meant that Aragorn would have to give her an accounting of his actions, if we survived this quest.

The kiss had steadied me enough that I could smile at him for a moment. “We will not fail her, mellon nín,” I promised. I did not move from his embrace until it was time to wake Gimli and Gandalf for their watch. I arranged my bedroll near Aragorn’s, but did not move closer than that. With the hold of the darkness and the Ring broken, at least for the moment, I could focus on the love I felt for him and for Arwen, using those feelings to stave off a return of the fear and panic I had felt earlier. Aragorn might not love me the way I loved him, but he did care for me enough to help me in my distress. I prayed to the Valar that I would always be able to do the same for him. 

  
Chapter 70

When we left the chamber a few hours later to begin our first full “day” in Moria, I deliberately chose to walk near Gandalf. I had given in to weakness the night before and had allowed, even luxuriated in Aragorn’s embrace. I could not afford for that to become a habit. Aragorn obviously thought that Arwen would not be waiting for him at the end of our quest, but she had assured me otherwise. If I was wrong, if she left for Valinor as Aragorn had asked, I would decide then what to say to Aragorn of my feelings. But if he was wrong, I did not want, in any way, to stand between them. Relying on him to strengthen me was dangerous. I risked blurting out my feelings in a moment of weakness. 

We came to a great cavern, with narrow ledges that bordered it. I noticed Gimli examining the walls more carefully. I was about to ask him what he was searching for when Gandalf spoke. “The wealth of Moria was not in gold or jewels, but mithril,” he told us. Looking more carefully, I saw the silvery veins that ran through the rock. Gandalf pointed his staff downward, illuminating the great cavern below us. It continued down for as far as I could see, giving us a better idea of the immensity of the task that had been undertaken here.

When we walked on, Gandalf continued. “Bilbo had a shirt of mithril rings that Thorin gave him,” he told us. 

“Oh, that was a kingly gift,” Gimli exclaimed.

“Yes, I never told him, but its worth was greater than the value of the Shire,” Gandalf said with a chuckle. 

We walked for hours that day, through narrow passages and great rooms. Every once in a while, I would see the glitter of mithril in the walls. There was indeed wealth here to be had still if one had the courage to come and claim it. Gimli’s cousin had tried. I wondered what his fate had been and if we would ever know. I hoped he had seen the folly of it and had moved somewhere else to mine, but I knew enough of Dwarves already to know that giving up, especially on something they considered theirs, was not their way.

I forced my eyes and my mind to focus on Gimli and on the Hobbits. Gandalf did not need my attention. He could take care of himself. Boromir was walking with Aragorn, and I dared not focus on them. I watched the Hobbits to see how they were bearing the strain of our journey, and I watched Gimli as I tried to learn how to survive in the underground world. He seemed to know unerringly where to step and where to avoid, as if he could sense the fissures in the rock. The Hobbits slipped and slid as we climbed, loose rocks tripping up their feet. Even Gandalf had a few missteps, but Gimli moved agilely through the maze that was Moria with a grace here in these caverns that rivaled Elvish grace among the trees. My respect for him grew as I saw him in a comfortable setting for him. I even caught a piece of a song he was humming under his breath. It reassured me in some small way to know that here, where I was so ill at ease, someone, at least, could feel at home.

As we reached the end of our day’s march, we began looking for another snug chamber in which to spend the night. We had no such luck, unfortunately, and had to settle for spreading our bedrolls against the wall so that one side was protected. Aragorn immediately organized the watches so that he and I shared the first watch while Boromir and Gimli took the second. We sat in silence until our companions were all asleep. Then, Aragorn put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “How are you, Legolas?” he asked.

“A little better today,” I replied. “Perhaps I am growing used to the darkness.”

“If that is so, then I am glad, but do not be foolishly brave, mellon nín. If you are weakening, you must say so. We cannot afford to lose you,” he said.

“I will be careful,” I promised. I did not tell him that I had spent almost seventy years having to be aware of my state of mind. He accepted my promise and leaned back against a rock, pipe between his teeth. I watched him surreptitiously, catching a glimpse of a sparkle around his neck. The Evenstar. So, he had not given it back to her. I had wondered about that since my conversation with Arwen. She had told me that Aragorn had tried to set her free, but that she had refused. She seemed to think that Aragorn had given up on their love. He might have convinced himself that their love was impossible, but he had not stopped loving her. That much was clear.

As my eyes landed on the proof of Arwen’s love, the Ring began its whispering again, taunting me with all that I had lost. I tried to ignore the voice in my head, to focus instead on the feelings of love that had saved me the previous night. But the Ring was subtler than that. It played on my feelings, on the kiss, twisting that gesture of caring and friendship into an attempt to use me. My mind shouted that it lied, that Aragorn might not love me, but he would never use me that way. The Ring retaliated with all the feelings of betrayal that had so consumed me after Aragorn had met Arwen. I rejected its logic even as the pain of those days washed over me again. I made myself think of the first heady days of our courtship, when all was still innocent between us, with only our hearts involved. Aragorn’s face, as it had been in those days, floated before me in my mind, sweet, giving, yet already filled with the determination that so marked the man who now sat but a few feet away from me. For a short time, I was able to draw comfort from that face, to reject the machinations of the Ring. Then, the look on Aragorn’s face twisted, losing the innocence and becoming calculating. “He was just using you,” the Ring whispered insidiously. “If he had really loved you, he would have understood what you could not say. Your actions spoke loudly enough. When have you ever given over control to another the way you did your last night with him? If he had loved you, he would have understood. He was just using you, for release, for his amusement. He is trying again now. He cannot have the one he desires so he chooses you as a poor substitute. That is all you ever were to him: a substitute for the one he loves.”

I shook my head frantically, trying to rid myself of the nagging voice and the doubts it raised. 

“Give in,” it continued. “He is only using you. What can it hurt to use him in return? Take your ease in his body. He is willing enough. He kissed you last night, did he not? Where is the harm?”

“Nay,” I muttered, not realizing I had spoken aloud. Instantly, Aragorn was at my side.

“Legolas?” he said, pulling me against him as he had the night before. The first time, his touch had strengthened my heart, had helped me reject the lure of the Ring. This time, it only intensified the struggle, giving me what I needed and also what the Ring wanted me to take.

“Do not,” I whispered, trying to move away.

“Legolas, let me help you,” Aragorn insisted.

“You cannot,” I answered. “The Ring twists even your comfort to hurt me.”

“What do we do, then?” he asked.

Just having him so close was almost more of a temptation than I could stand. If he remained that close, I would not be able to resist much longer. Yet, if he moved away and I convinced myself that I could not have him, could not take him, the urge to go for my knives would increase as well. “You must bind my hands,” I told him.

“What?” he exclaimed.

“If I cannot use my hands, I cannot give the Ring what it wants. Do it!” I ordered.

“And if we are attacked during the night and I alone am standing guard? You will be killed for sure,” he protested.

“Wake Gimli, if you must, but say nothing to the others of this,” I pleaded.

“Why Gimli?” he asked.

“Dwarves know when and how to keep secrets,” I replied simply.

Aragorn moved to Gimli’s side, shaking him gently until he roused. He gestured for Gimli to join me and went to his own pack for rope.

“What is going on, Master Elf?” Gimli asked as he watched Aragorn.

“The Ring, Gimli, has decided that I am the easiest to corrupt, here in the darkness, away from the wind and the trees. When we are marching, I can keep it at bay, but in the stillness, it threatens to overwhelm me. Aragorn is going to restrain me so I cannot give in to the temptation it puts before me, but that means you must help him keep watch,” I explained.

“And you must free Legolas if it comes to battle this night,” Aragorn added.

Gimli huffed a little as he settled down beside me, muttering about the foolishness of Elves, but he did not refuse our request. Aragorn bound my hands behind my back and returned to his seat on the opposite side of the camp.

The Ring’s torment descended back on me as soon as all was still. I must have made a distressed sound, for Gimli’s hand shook me. “Would it help to talk, Master Elf?” he asked softly.

“It is private,” I replied, not willing to tell him how the Ring was torturing me.

“Not about that,” he answered. “About anything.” He was silent for a moment, as if searching for a safe topic of conversation. I almost laughed. What could be safe for the son of Thranduil and the son of Glóin to discuss? We could not discuss our homes or our families; that would undoubtedly lead to an argument.

“What do you know of stone?” he asked me finally.

“Very little,” I admitted. And so, for the rest of the pause between marches, Gimli explained to me about the different kinds of stone, the qualities of each, and the different ways to work it. I succeeded in forcing my mind to stay on our conversation, asking questions when I did not understand and then repeating what Gimli had already said to make sure I remembered it. It was neither the most personal nor the most interesting conversation I ever had with Gimli, but it was quite possibly the most vital. When we stopped to rest for the third time, I overrode Aragorn’s suggestion and shared a watch with Gimli. That night, I tortured him with a discussion of trees. Years later, we laughed at ourselves, saying that the Ring left us alone those two nights because the torments we had each inflicted on the other were greater than anything the Ring could devise.


	15. Chapters 71-75

Chapter 71

We started on our fourth march since entering Moria. I devoutly hoped it would be our last. Even with Gimli’s help, the Ring was beginning to wear on me. I feared that another night spent in Moria would see me descend completely into madness, even with Gimli to distract me. We climbed yet another flight of stairs, coming to a crossroads. Three shafts led off from the place where we now stood, three possible paths, only one of which would lead to our destination. I looked to Gandalf to tell us which door to take.

“I have no memory of this place,” Gandalf said, staring at the three portals, trying to decide which one would lead us toward the Eastern Gate. “We will rest for a few minutes,” he decided. We set down our packs and settled to the floor to wait. Frodo sat beside Gandalf. The rest of us sat on a landing a few steps below the crossroads. Aragorn, Gimli, Merry and Pippin all pulled out their pipes, taking advantage of the moment’s rest. I said nothing, but I did wonder what I had been done to be cursed with pipeweed on every side.

“Are we lost?” Pippin whispered to Merry after a few minutes.

“No,” Merry whispered back.

“I think we are,” Pippin countered, still in a whisper.

“Shhh!” Sam intervened. “Gandalf’s thinking.” I smiled at the interplay between the three Hobbits. Pippin’s innocence, Merry’s attempts to reassure him, Sam’s determination to have everything turn out for the best. Those qualities endeared them to me immensely. I must have been that innocent once, believing that everything could somehow work out for the best. I had lost that innocence long ago, but I prayed to the Valar that my Hobbit friends would find a way to keep theirs through all we were facing. If they could do that, perhaps we were not on such a fool’s errand after all.

All was silent for a few moments, then Pippin’s voice sounded again, still at a whisper. “Merry?” he said softly.

“What?” Merry asked, sounding a little annoyed.

“I’m hungry,” Pippin replied. I suppressed a chuckle at that comment. I had yet to see the Hobbits not hungry. They seemed perfectly capable of eating more than the Men twice the size. Then, I saw Frodo start suddenly, as if he had seen something that frightened him. Even as he went to Gandalf for reassurance, I peered back the way we had come, trying to make out what could have frightened Frodo.

“There’s something down there,” I heard Frodo say as I watched the stones below us.

“It’s Gollum,” Gandalf answered just as my eyes caught the skulking creature on the rocks below. I listened absently as Frodo and Gandalf discussed Gollum and how he might have left Barad-Dur. I could see his large eyes glittering in the darkness as he stared up at us. His hatred was almost palpable, even across the distance. Part of me recoiled, wondering what I had done, what any of us had done to deserve such hatred. Then, as if Gandalf had heard my question, he answered it. “He will never be rid of his need of it. He hates and loves the Ring, as he hates and loves himself.” 

Gandalf kept talking to Frodo, about the sad story of Gollum’s life, but the words flowed over me, unimportant in the face of this revelation about the Ring. Gollum would never be rid of it, Gandalf believed. Did that mean that I, too, would suffer the temptation of the Ring until it was destroyed or until it destroyed me? I had thought that, once under the open sky again, I would regain my defenses to its evil, but now Gandalf’s words made me wonder. Had the darkness of Moria done me a lasting harm? As I stood there, waiting to move on, waiting to feel the wind again on my face, the Ring resumed its taunting, assuring me that I was so completely in its power that I should just give in. I swayed under the force of its evil. Gimli and Aragorn both noticed, but Gimli spoke first.

“Why is it that Elves have no hair?”

I gaped at him. My hair hung more than halfway down my back. It always had. What did he mean Elves had no hair? I was about to ask him what he thought was on my head when I saw him stroking his beard. I paused, to come up with another retort when I realized what he had done. In my anger at his question, I had broken the hold that the Ring had gotten over me. And so I laughed at his question. Not loudly and not for long. Laughter did not seem appropriate in Moria, but I laughed nonetheless. “We wear our hair on the top of our heads, not on the front,” I replied sagely.

He chuckled in reply, though it was not the wittiest response I could have given him. Before I could say more, Gandalf’s voice drifted down to us again. “Even the very wise cannot see all ends. My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or ill, before this is over. The pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of Men,” he told Frodo. I wondered if the wise, Elrond and Galadriel, had seen this end when they sent us off. Had they seen us trapped in Moria? Would they have sent us if they had.

Frodo and Gandalf talked a little longer, their words too soft even for my ears to catch. Then, Gandalf rose suddenly and pointed toward one of the passages. “Ah! It’s that way,” he declared.

“He’s remembered!” Merry exclaimed with a smile, climbing the steps to join Gandalf.

“No,” Gandalf replied, putting an arm around Merry’s shoulders, “but the air doesn’t smell so foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose.” Gimli and I exchanged laughing looks at that advice. We followed Gandalf down the passage to the left, descending stairs, instead of ascending. The passage opened finally into a huge hall.

“Let me risk a little more light,” Gandalf said, raising his staff to illuminate the tall pillars and arched ceilings that stretched out before us. I was awe-struck as I stared mutely at the spectacle before me. Never before or since had I seen the like. The silence from the other members of the Fellowship told of their reactions as well. 

“Behold the great realm of the dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf,” Gandalf said softly.

“Now there’s an eye opener, and no mistake,” Sam said when he could finally speak at all. I felt much the same way. The passages we had been traversing were mining shafts, functional only. This hall was built for beauty as well. As we crossed the hall, a beam of sunlight caught my eye, and Gimli’s as well, but Gimli saw something I did not. Or at least, something I did not know how to interpret. With a cry, he ran toward the room.

Gandalf called his name, trying to stop him, but Gimli paid him no heed, entering the chamber and kneeling in front of a crypt, though at the time I did not know what it was. We followed him slowly, arriving in the chamber just in time to hear him shouting “No!” over and over.

I moved forward to comfort him, but Boromir reached him first, a hand coming to rest on Gimli’s shoulder, offering whatever support the Dwarf needed. Gandalf, too, approached Gimli’s side, reading the runes inscribed on the stone. “‘Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.’ He is dead then. It’s as I feared.” Balin. Gimli’s cousin, who was supposed to welcome us with malt beer and roaring fires. This block of stone was all that was left of that Dwarf. 

As I pondered the mortality of Dwarves, Gandalf handed his staff and hat to Pippin and bent down to retrieve a battered book from the grasp of a dead Dwarf. He opened it, cleared the dirt and began to flip gingerly through its pages. I knew that Gimli needed time to mourn. I knew that Gandalf wanted to know what had happened, but the sunlight through a crack in the ceiling brought home to me again all that I had not felt in four days. “We must move on, we cannot linger!” I told Aragorn urgently.

He nodded as Gandalf began to read from the heavy tome. “They have taken the bridge, and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep,” he read, turning the page carefully. “We cannot get out. A Shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out…They are coming.” His words resonated in the gloom of the chamber, holding us all in the terror of the events that led to the last stand of the Dwarves, there in that room. I met Aragorn’s eyes nervously.

As he spoke, Pippin’s curiosity got the better of him. He reached out and touched the arrow in a corpse on the edge of the well. First the skull, then the body tumbled down the well, echoing noisily for what seemed like hours, though it could not have been more than a few seconds. Finally, all was silent again. For a long moment, none of us moved. When the silence continued, we all began to breathe more easily.

“Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!” Gandalf scolded. The last time Gandalf had scolded Pippin, I had felt some sympathy for the young Hobbit. This time, I had none. Gandalf grabbed his hat and staff and turned to leave the chamber when the sound of a drum echoed up from below. One thump. Then another. Then several together. The terror that had receded with the silence returned in full force. I could feel it gripping everyone in the room. Sam suddenly called Frodo’s name and pointed at his sword. It glowed blue in the dim light. I had not known that Frodo carried an Elvish sword, but I knew very well what that blue glow meant. “Orcs,” I shouted, warning the others.

Boromir went to the door, to see if we could escape or to bar the door if we could not. Arrows landed in the door, right in front of his face with menacing thumps. Aragorn dropped the torch that he had been carrying. “Get back!” he yelled to the Hobbits. “Stay close to Gandalf!”

Even as he spoke, he ran to Boromir’s side, helping him push the doors closed. As the doors swung shut, we could make out another sound over the chittering of the Orcs, a deeper, more threatening sound. “They have a cave-troll,” Boromir said, rolling his eyes in frustration. As he spoke, I scrounged for spears and axes, tossing them to Boromir and Aragorn for them to use to bar the door. As soon as the door was secure, I drew my bow. Aragorn readied his bow as well. Boromir had his sword in hand, swinging it in preparation for the battle to come. Behind us, I heard Gimli leap atop the tomb. “Let them come!” he growled. “There is one Dwarf yet in Moria that still draws breath!”

The Orcs began battering at the door, their weapons serving as axes. As soon as a hole appeared large enough for an arrow, I fired. Beside me, Aragorn did the same, the squeals we heard through the door letting us know that our arrows had found targets. They continued to hack at the doors until the spears and axes broke and they came swarming through. Aragorn abandoned his bow for his sword almost immediately, joining Boromir in hacking at our attackers. Gimli let out a roar as the first Orcs reached him, cutting them down as they came. Even the Hobbits joined in. I could hear them yelling as they attacked. I was aware of all of them even as I shut out everything, focusing on the rhythm of aiming and firing my bow. I had feared a battle in the darkness, but now that it was upon us, I found that my desire to live outweighed my fear.

The last of the Orcs came through the narrow doorway, the chain in its hand leading the cave troll we had heard. I fired immediately, my arrow landing in its shoulder, but that did not slow it down. The troll raised its mace, aiming for Sam who stood almost at its feet. I fired again, at Orcs around me, as Boromir and Aragorn grabbed the troll’s chain and tried to pull it away from Sam. They succeeded in distracting it from Sam, only to have it turn its attention to them. Aragorn ducked quickly, but Boromir was thrown across the room. As he tried to regain his senses, an Orc bore down on him. I had an arrow ready and was about to fire when Aragorn threw his sword, skewering the creature through its neck. I almost sighed in frustration as he left himself defenseless. Instead, I fired at the Orc that decided the Man with no sword was an easy target. 

When Aragorn had retrieved his sword, I climbed up to a ledge, giving myself the advantage of altitude in the battle. The troll had turned its attention to Gimli, who had managed so far to avoid its mace. I fired two more arrows into the troll, but it still was not enough to bring down the foul creature. I drew one of my knives, taking out the Orcs that had joined me on the ledge. The troll pounded its mace down on the ledge, annoyed perhaps at my challenge. I dodged its blows, waiting for it to make a mistake. When the end of the mace came around a pillar, I saw my chance, catching it with my foot and securing the troll to the wall with its chain. The chain proved the perfect bridge. I danced across it, my feet barely even connecting, coming to stand on the troll’s shoulders. I fired directly into its skull, but that was not its weak spot. 

As I jumped down, I heard Aragorn call Frodo’s name. The troll’s focus had changed again, this time to the Ringbearer. It grabbed Frodo by the ankle, dangling him upside down. Frodo called for Aragorn’s help. I moved that way, as well, but was intercepted. As I fought the Orcs that surrounded me, I kept an eye on my friends. Aragorn had grabbed a spear and had stabbed the troll, but the troll kept coming, knocking Aragorn away and pulling the spear out of its side. It stabbed at Frodo several times before finally hitting him. Merry and Pippin jumped from the ledge onto the troll’s head. The rest of the Orcs had fallen so all our efforts were focused on bringing down the troll. Gandalf and Gimli parried its blows, striking with sword and axe while the Hobbits stabbed from above. I prepared to fire and waited, hoping for an opening that would let me find a weak spot. Pippin stabbed the troll one more time in the head, causing the troll to rear up, shouting in pain. That was the opening I had been looking for. I fired into the creature’s mouth, the arrow penetrating its palette and embedding in its brain. As soon as I fired, I prepared another arrow, just in case. The troll moaned, then collapsed at our feet, throwing Pippin against the floor. Silence followed, a sudden change from the noise of battle.

As soon as we knew the troll was dead, all attention turned to Frodo. All attention, that is, except mine. I had seen Aragorn thrown against the wall, where he lay unmoving. My eyes raked over him when the battle ended, checking for injuries, wondering how I would explain my broken promise to Arwen if he was seriously injured. Fortunately, he had awakened and was crawling toward Frodo. He turned the Hobbit over, expecting to see him lying in a pool of blood. Then, Frodo coughed a little and struggled to sit up. His shirt was dirty and torn, but no blood stained the fabric.

“I’m all right, I’m not hurt,” he assured us all, panting a little, but then, we all were after the battle.

“You should be dead!” Aragorn exclaimed incredulously. “That spear would have skewered a wild boar.” He was right. There had to be some explanation for Frodo’s survival.

“I think there’s more to this Hobbit than meets the eye,” Gandalf said with just the hint of a smile. Frodo parted his shirt to reveal a vest of silvery rings.

“Mithril!” Gimli exclaimed in awe. “You are full of surprises, Master Baggins.” Even as he spoke, the cries of Orcs returned, signaling a new wave of attackers.

“To the bridge of Khazad-Dûm!” Gandalf ordered.

Elvish translations

Melin chen – I love you

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Chapter 72

We followed Gandalf’s orders, grabbing our weapons and running back through the hall. As we ran, Orcs swarmed behind us, coming up from the floor, down the pillars from the ceiling. If we could reach the far end, we would have a chance of fighting them or at least outrunning them, but they kept coming, from every direction, until we were completely surrounded. We drew our weapons, standing back to back, prepared to fight. We would take many of them with us, but I did not see how we could fight our way out of this situation. The Orcs were simply too numerous. Díhena nin, Arwen, I thought as I waited to begin the battle that would probably kill us. Melin chen. I promised myself that that would be my dying thought. If I was not to survive this quest, I would leave Arda thinking of my two loves, with my vow to them on my lips.

In that tense moment when each side waited for the other to begin the battle, a thunderous growl sounded at the far end of the hall. The Orcs cringed before us and, when the noise came again, they fled in a panic. We turned to face the threatening sound, wondering what could possibly have caused our enemies to flee.

“What is this new devilry?” Boromir asked when we heard the third rumble, speaking the words that were on all our minds.

Gandalf was silent. I looked at him – we all did – waiting for an explanation, an answer at least, but still he said nothing, his eyes closing as if in great concentration. The growl came again.

Finally, he spoke. “A Balrog,” he said slowly. “A demon of the ancient world.” His words froze the blood in my veins. I remembered his words to Frodo before we entered Moria, and I remembered wondering what could be more powerful than an Istari. Now I knew what it was Gandalf feared facing. “This foe is beyond any of you. Run!” 

I said nothing as we all followed his orders, but fear was slithering through me. I had never faced a Balrog before, but I knew of them. I had heard the stories of the fiery fall of Gondolin. To my knowledge, only two Elves had ever succeeded in killing a Balrog, and they had both died in the process. Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli and I were able warriors, but we had neither the experience nor the power of Glorfindel and Ecthelion. Gandalf was right. None of us could face this new menace. I only hoped he could, for if he could not, we were doomed, and all Middle Earth with us.

We reached the end of the hall and descended the steps as fast as we could. Almost faster than we should have. The stairs ended suddenly, falling away into nothingness. Boromir teetered on the edge, trying to catch his balance, to stop his downward descent. I flew down the steps behind him, wrapping an arm around his chest, pulling him backward, onto me. Onto the stairs.

We turned, then, going down a set of stairs to the side, running, running, for all we were worth, knowing that to stop was to perish. My senses were so acute in those moments that I could separate the individual footsteps of my companions. Boromir led the way down the stairs. Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and Merry were right behind him. Gimli was next. Aragorn was right behind me, and Gandalf was the last down the stairs. I heard Gandalf’s footsteps hesitate. “Gandalf?” Aragorn said, the name a question.

“Lead them on, Aragorn,” Gandalf ordered. “The bridge is near.” I looked in the direction that Gandalf pointed and could see a narrow bridge crossing the chasm in front of us. As I did, I heard Aragorn’s footsteps hesitate as well. “Do as I say!’ Gandalf reprimanded Aragorn. “Swords are no more use here.” And so we continued to flee. We came to a curve in the stair, and I jumped down, landing just ahead of Boromir. 

Halfway down those stairs, we encountered a gap. I jumped across easily, but I could tell my fellows were going to have a more difficult time crossing the distance. I gestured to Gandalf, calling his name. Another loud rumble sounded from the passageway we had just left, and stones began to fall around us. I caught Gandalf as he leapt the distance. I looked for the others, ready to catch them as well, when arrows whistled through the air, striking the steps around us. I drew my bow, firing back and could see Aragorn doing the same out of the corner of my eye. We continued to fire as Boromir grabbed Merry and Pippin and jumped the gap.

Aragorn paused in his shooting long enough to throw Sam across the distance into Boromir’s waiting arms. He reached for Gimli, but Gimli refused. “Nobody tosses a Dwarf.”

He leapt forward, his feet landing on the edge of the stair, but without enough impetus to carry his body forward. I reached out for whatever I could catch, unwilling to see my new friend fall to his death. What I could catch was his beard. “Not the beard!” Gimli shouted as I pulled. I rolled my eyes as I pulled him to safety, not understanding, then, the pride that Dwarves took in their beards. When he was safe beside me, I turned, ready to catch Frodo, but the steps across from us began to crumble. Aragorn pushed Frodo back up the steps and managed to climb back up himself as the stone he was standing on fell into the abyss, but the gap had become too great to jump. 

The fiery light from the Balrog was growing brighter. All around us, the stairs and supports were collapsing, huge stones falling. One such rock fell onto the stair behind Aragorn and Frodo, weakening the foundation, Gimli later explained. The stairs began to wobble, about to fall. All that remained was to see in which direction.

“Steady. Hold on,” Aragorn reassured Frodo. “Lean forward!”

“Come on!” I said, under my breath, hoping Aragorn’s idea would work. Slowly, slowly the stairs tipped forward, picking up speed until they slammed into the steps where the rest of us stood. Aragorn and Frodo jumped just as the two stairs collided, Frodo landing safely in Boromir’s arms and Aragorn in mine. There was no time to give in to the relief that swept through me, for the Balrog was growing ever nearer, but I gave Aragorn’s shoulders a swift squeeze before we continued our descent.

“Over the bridge! Fly!” Gandalf shouted as we reached the bridge of Khazad-dûm. We crossed the bridge at a run, but Gandalf stopped halfway across and turned to face the Balrog who was finally visible in the encroaching flames.

“You cannot pass!” he shouted at the creature.

“Gandalf!” Frodo shouted, in protest and fear.

A blazing light radiated from Gandalf’s staff, illuminating the bridge and the surrounding chasm as the Balrog rose up before him. We stopped, frozen in place by the spectacle playing itself out before us.

“I am the servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udun!” Gandalf warned, raising sword and staff against the Balrog, clearly visible at last on the bridge. It took no heed of his warning, striking at Gandalf with a flaming sword. I expected it to be over, right then. I expected that sword the cleave my friend in two, but the blow never landed. The sword shattered when it encountered Gandalf’s staff.

“Go back to the Shadow!” Gandalf commanded. Again, the Balrog did not listen, brandishing a flaming whip that it lashed menacingly.

Gandalf did not flinch. “YOU….SHALL NOT...PASS!!” he repeated, striking his staff against the bridge. The Balrog hesitated only a moment before stepping forward. The bridge collapsed beneath it, sending the creature plummeting into the depths. I breathed a sigh of relief. Somehow, by some means beyond my imagination, Gandalf had succeeded. The Balrog was gone. I was almost smiling as Gandalf turned to follow us. The smile changed to horror as the whip lashed back from the chasm, wrapping around Gandalf’s ankle and pulling him into the breach. He clung to the edge for a moment, looking up at us all, meeting our eyes. Frodo rushed forward, but Boromir restrained him.

“Gandalf!!” Frodo shouted, his voice echoing in the silence.

“Fly, you fools!” Gandalf ordered one last time before falling into the abyss.

“No!!!” Frodo screamed as Boromir picked him up and started up the stairs that led to the East Gate. His shout echoed what we all felt in our hearts as we followed Boromir’s lead. All of us except Aragorn, who stood, shocked, staring at the bridge. I was about to go back for him when Boromir shouted his name. That brought him out of his daze. He dodged the arrows that were flying again now that the Balrog was gone and followed us up the stairs and out into the light. We had escaped Moria, but at what price?

Chapter 73  
  
  


The light blinded us as we left the darkness of Moria, our eyes having seen only the light of torches and Gandalf’s staff for four long days. We stumbled across the rough stones of the Dimrill Dale until we were out of range of the Orcs’ bows. They would not pursue us into daylight. Grief overcame us as soon as we were out of immediate danger. I did not fall to my knees as Sam and Pippin did, nor shout my grief aloud like Boromir and Gimli, but I felt it no less keenly. 

Gandalf was gone.

There were no other words to say it, no other way to face that reality. However much I wanted to deny it, Gandalf had fallen, victim to the Balrog that he had faced so that we could escape, so that the quest could go on. He had made the ultimate sacrifice, for us. I forced back the tears that threatened to fall, knowing we were only safe for the moment. I envied the Hobbits their freedom to show their grief. Mortals often think that Elves do not understand grief, either because we are immortal or because we choose to mourn in private, but we can die, and we grieve the loss of our loved ones no less because they might eventually be restored to us in Valinor. I was no stranger to loss before Gandalf fell, and I have felt it many times since, but that did not make it less intense as I struggled to understand the situation in which we now found ourselves. Gandalf had been our leader, our guide, our protector, even, and suddenly he was gone, leaving us adrift with our pain and our misery. I stared blindly, seeing nothing at all, aware only of the hole that Gandalf’s fall had left in my life and in my heart. He had been my friend for many years, and I did not know what we would do without his wise counsel. What Middle Earth would do without his wisdom. Saruman had betrayed us. Galadriel and Elrond could not use the power of their rings to help us without betraying their existence to Sauron, thus endangering all they had worked so hard to build. Who, then, had the power to help us stand against all that would come before the end?

I wondered, as I watched Merry try to comfort Pippin, even as he himself cried hot tears, who would assume Gandalf’s roles within the Fellowship. That was the more immediate concern. Any of the four warriors could act as protector – we already were in many ways. Aragorn knew Arda from his travels. He could be our guide, but who would lead us, keep us from faltering? That had been Gandalf’s most important role. I scanned the faces around me. As the Ringbearer, Frodo should have been the one in charge, but the Hobbits had no experience, nothing to help them lead us. Gimli could not. If not for Boromir’s hold on him, he would have already tried to return to Moria, as if by doing so he could somehow change Gandalf’s fate. Boromir might once have been able to lead us, but I had seen the effect the Ring had on him on Caradhras. We could no longer trust him. That left two choices: Aragorn or me. In one corner of my mind, I recognized the sound of a sword returning to its sheath.

“Legolas, get them up,” Aragorn ordered. That answered the question I had been asking. Aragorn had just become the leader of the Fellowship. I forced my grief aside, about to do as he asked, if only to have something to distract me from the turmoil that had not subsided since Gandalf fell.

“Give them a moment for pity's sake,” Boromir protested.

“By nightfall, these hills will be swarming with Orcs!” Aragorn replied. I glanced skyward. It was one hour after noon. That gave us several hours still until nightfall. “We must reach the Woods of Lothlórien.” I gauged the distance as I reached Merry and Pippin. “Come, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, get them up.” If we were lucky, we would be able to cover the distance in time.

He reached for Sam. “On your feet, Sam” he encouraged the Hobbit. As I helped Merry and Pippin to their feet, I heard him call for Frodo. I looked around, as well. Frodo had wandered a few paces away, tears tracking silently down his cheeks. He came docilely at Aragorn’s bidding.

At Aragorn’s urging, we continued on, crossing the Dimrill Dale and eventually the Nimrodel. Aragorn paused as we crossed the river. I ran up beside him and followed his gaze, conscious of the hint of a smile on his lips. I wondered what he could possibly have to smile about, with Gandalf dead mere hours ago. Then, I realized what he was looking at: Cerin Amroth. Where he and Arwen had first pledged their troth. The memories brought him pleasure, even amid his grief. I touched his shoulder gently, letting him know I was there and that I understood. The others caught up with us, then, and Aragorn continued on, the moment between us lost, as we approached the borders of Lórien. I dreaded going there even as I followed Aragorn under the branches of the outlying trees. I knew, at least to some extent, what awaited us in Lórien. We were not simple travelers. Galadriel would want to speak with us, certainly together, perhaps alone as well. She would read into our hearts and minds, as she always did. I feared what she would see if she looked at me too closely. The Ring had tempted me greatly in the darkness of Moria. I had resisted, but the experience had exposed the weaknesses of my heart, to my own eyes, even if no one else had seen them yet. I hoped that being in the open again, able to draw strength from the trees, would protect me from further temptation, but if it did not, I did not know if I could finish the quest. My grief over Gandalf’s death only weakened me further. Even without the Ring, I would have been tempted to seek comfort in Aragorn’s arms and offer comfort in return, but doing so would leave me more open to the Ring’s evil. Furthermore, I had my own memories of past visits to contend with. Being there again, with Aragorn, was an additional reminder of all that I had let slip through my fingers. I felt the trees welcoming me as we advanced cautiously.

“Stay close young Hobbits! They say that a great sorceress lives in these woods, an Elf-witch of terrible power. All who look upon her, fall under her spell and are never seen again,” Gimli whispered, gesturing the Hobbits closer. Under other circumstances, I would have smiled, even chuckled at Gimli’s words. He had no idea what he was talking about. Galadriel was many things, including enchanting and powerful, but she was only to be feared by her enemies.

“Well, here’s one Dwarf she won't ensnare so easily,” Gimli continued, muttering under his breath. How we laughed later about that comment, when he would have fought any who dared to slight the Lady. “I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!”

Then, we were surrounded by archers in Lórien colors, all of whom were drawing on us. I drew my own bow, not recognizing any of them at first. Then, a particularly arrogant voice spoke, and I lowered my bow, relaxing.

“The Dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark.”

Chapter 74

A month before, I would have helped Haldir shoot any Dwarf I found on Elvish land. A week earlier, I would have laughed at the comment before suggesting that he not shoot. But when he actually made the comment, I bristled at the suggestion that any harm should befall my friend. I stepped forward, making sure that Haldir saw me. He nodded when he did, leading us to a talan where we could speak and rest in safety.

“Mae govannen, Legolas Thanduilion,” he greeted me, with all the courtesy and reserve of a Marchwarden and none of the friendliness that had oftentimes characterized our interactions. I understood. I was not just a Prince of Mirkwood or a visiting Elf. I was a member of the Fellowship, and not even the leader. Still, my father had not trained me as a diplomat for nothing.

“Govannas vîn gwennen le, Haldir o Lórien,” I replied, letting him know that I understood the debt we owed them for bringing us this far, even if we went no further. We were safe that night because of Haldir and his border guards.

Haldir’s gaze left me and landed on Aragorn. “Ah, Aragorn in Dúnedain, istannen le ammen.” That seemed a strange comment to me. Aragorn had passed some months in Lórien, albeit many years earlier. I did not understand, then, why Haldir greeted him that way. I later learned that Haldir had not been in Lórien at the time and so knew of Aragorn without ever having met him.

“Haldir,” Aragorn replied, bowing his head slightly.

“So much for the legendary courtesy of the Elves,” Gimli interrupted. “Speak words we can all understand.” I understood his frustration, but his comment did not help an already delicate situation. Dwarves are many things; diplomatic is not usually one of them.

“We have not had dealings with the Dwarves since the dark days,” Haldir replied coldly. If there was one think Haldir hated, it was having anyone question his way of doing things. Even when he was wrong.

“And do you know what this Dwarf says to that?” Gimli asked. I saw his reaction coming, but I was not fast enough to stop it. Neither was Aragorn. “Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul.” I had no idea what Gimli said, but the tone of voice was not friendly. This was definitely not helping our case.

“That was not so courteous,” Aragorn scolded. Gimli was about to say something else. I was sure of it. I placed a restraining hand on his shoulder, hoping he would not lump me in with his frustration with Elves in general.

Before any of us could speak again, Haldir fixed Frodo with a penetrating stare. “You bring great evil with you. You can go no further,” he said, walking away.

Aragorn hesitated only for a second before going after him. I almost told him not to bother. Nothing changed Haldir’s mind once it was made up, but Aragorn had taken leadership of the Fellowship, and it was not for me to question him. I turned away, facing into the woods, letting the mellyrn refresh my soul after four days of darkness.

“Boe ammen veriad lîn. Andelu i ven!” I heard Aragorn say, beseeching the protection of the Golden Wood against the dangers of the road. The road was fell indeed if it had taken Gandalf from us. Now that we were safe, the grief that I had forced aside for a few hours was returning in full force. I let it wash through me, over me, and out, to the forest around me. I was so focused on my inner pain that I did not hear Haldir’s reply to Aragorn’s request, but it must have been negative since Aragorn continued arguing.

“Merin le telim,” he asked, beseeching Haldir to take us with him into the heart of the forest. Again, I could not hear Haldir’s response, but Aragorn did not give up. I glanced at the rest of my companions, all as caught in their grief as I was.

“Henio, aníron boe ammen i dulu lîn!” Aragorn asked one last time, still seeking the protection of the Lady and the Golden Wood. I resigned myself to spending the night there, and returning to the wild the next day.

“Gandalf’s death was not in vain,” I heard Boromir say to Frodo, by way of consolation. “Nor would he have you give up hope. You carry a heavy burden, Frodo. Don’t carry the weight of the dead.” I pondered Boromir’s words for a moment. Gandalf had died facing the Balrog, that the rest of us might live to carry on the quest. Aragorn had vowed to do the same. “If by my life or death, I can protect you,” he had told Frodo. I had not said the words, offering only my bow, but the spirit of my vow had been the same. I was a warrior. I was a representative of the Elvish race, but that was not important anymore. I had come on this quest as protection for Frodo. If it came to a choice between my survival and his, I would have to choose his, for without him, we would fail. Gandalf had simply realized this sooner than the rest of us. He had made the choice, his sacrifice allowing the quest to continue.

I do not know what Aragorn said to Haldir while I was thinking about Gandalf, but he had done the impossible. He had changed Haldir’s mind. “You will follow me,” Haldir instructed.

That night, we followed him only to a more comfortable talan where we could rest. I rested well for the first time since entering Moria, for the Ring was silent that night. In the morning, we followed him through the woods of Lórien to Caras Galadhon. The first challenge of the day came when we reached the Celebrant. It flowed swift and cold, too deep to cross on foot, but with no bridge to allow us to cross without wading. Haldir smiled indulgently, as an Elf appeared on the other side and tossed him a length of grey Elvish rope. They each made fast their end of the rope, creating a bridge between the two trees.

“I can walk this path,” I told Haldir, “but the others have not this skill. Must they swim?” I hoped not, for the water was sure to be cold indeed, this early in the year.

“No,” Haldir replied. “We have two more ropes. We will fasten them above the other, one shoulder-high, and another half-high, and holding these, the strangers should be able to cross with care.”

We all passed, then, with no great difficulties, and continued on our way. We had walked only a little further, when Haldir stopped again. “You have entered the Naith of Lórien. We allow no strangers to spy out its secrets. Few indeed are permitted even to set foot there. I will here blindfold the eyes of Gimli the Dwarf.”

Gimli protested immediately. “I will not walk blindfolded, like a beggar or a prisoner. And I am no spy. My folk have never had dealings with any of the servants of the Enemy. I am no more likely to betray you than Legolas, or any other of my companions.” I wanted to scold Gimli, yet I understood his frustration. By virtue of his race, something over which he had no control, he was being condemned, forced to a different standard than the rest, all strangers as well, except for Aragorn and me.

Before I could find a way to intervene, Aragorn took charge again.

“We will all be blindfolded, even Legolas,” Aragorn interrupted, ending the argument. That was not much to my liking, and unnecessary as well since I knew these woods almost as well as I knew the woods of home, but I accepted Aragorn’s pronouncement. I could not stop myself from commenting on the sorry state of affairs, though. “Here all are enemies of the one Enemy, and yet we must walk blind, while the sun is merry in the woodland under leaves of gold.”

“Folly it may seem,” Haldir agreed, “Indeed in nothing is the power of the Dark Lord more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who still oppose him. Yet so little faith and trust do we find now in the world beyond Lothlórien, unless maybe in Rivendell, that we dare not by our own trust endanger our land.” I had to agree with him. My father felt the same way. It suddenly made the success of the Fellowship seem all the more important. All the free folk of Middle Earth were represented here: Men, Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits. If we could work together, we could perhaps break down some of the divisions that had divided us. If we failed, those divisions might never be healed.

We had marched for several hours when we met a host of elves on their way to the northern borders. They brought a message from the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim that all the Fellowship was to walk free, even Gimli, so Haldir removed the cloths covering our eyes, and bowed in apology to Gimli. Then, he led us on until dusk, stopping as Arien was dropping below the horizon, to show us his home.

“Caras Galadhon,” he said, gesturing for us to look on its beauty. “The heart of Elvendom on earth. Realm of the lord Celeborn and Galadriel, Lady of Light.”

I looked for a moment on the beauty of Lórien before turning my head to the east, where I could just make out the southern edge of my home. The light that lay on Lórien did not touch the woods there, for Dol Guldur stood amidst the trees, spreading the filth of the Shadow over my home.

We descended the hill swiftly, leaving behind Cerin Amroth. As we did, I heard Aragorn whisper, “Arwen vanimelda, namarië!” Good-bye, Arwen, my fair love. I knew, of course, of what had passed between them on this hill and what had passed between them in Rivendell. Her pledge, his acceptance, and his later attempt to release her. I had not realized, until that moment, how completely he expected her to leave him. He truly had no idea of the depth of the bond they had created between them. I did not know if Galadriel could see the outcome of this quest, and I did not know if she would tell me, even if she could, but I would ask her, if I had the chance, what hope there was for my two loves. And then I would do everything I could to make that hope a reality.  
  


Chapter 75

We made our way through the paths of Caras Galadhon, until we reached the base of the grand court of Galadriel and Celeborn. We began the long climb up the winding stairway to the flet where they would meet us. Haldir led, of course, with Aragorn and Gimli directly behind him. The Hobbits followed next, just in front of me, with Boromir coming last. When we had all assembled, the Lord and Lady descended the stairs to meet us, glowing with power in the fading light. Rare it was, I knew, that the great Elf-Lords showed their power so clearly, but they chose to do so that night. I could see the awe on the faces of my companions as Aragorn and I touched our foreheads in reverent greeting.

When at last they stood on our level, the light around them waned, and Celeborn spoke. “The Enemy knows you have entered here,” he told us gravely. “What hope you had in secrecy is now gone. Eight that are here, yet nine there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him. I can no longer see him from afar.”

As he spoke, Galadriel searched Aragorn’s eyes. “Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land,” she said softly. Her gaze landed on me, and I could not hide the sorrow in my heart. “He has fallen into Shadow.”

“He was taken by both Shadow and flame,” I told her. “A Balrog of Morgoth.” I saw Celeborn’s reaction to my news, saw the shock that crossed his face as I continued. “For we went needlessly into the net of Moria.” My grief would have been obvious to even the simplest creature. Galadriel had no trouble interpreting it.

“Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life,” she assured us all, yet I knew her words were directed at me. “We do not yet know his full purpose.” She turned her piercing gaze on Gimli, standing in front of me. “Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-dum fill your heart, Gimli son of Glóin,” she told him, “for the world has grown full of peril and in all lands, love is now mingled with grief.” Thus began Gimli’s adoration of the Lady.

“What now becomes of this Fellowship?” Celeborn asked “Without Gandalf, hope is lost.” His words had surely crossed all our minds in the time since Gandalf had fallen. Gandalf had been our source of strength and wisdom. I still did not see how we could go on without him.

“The quest stands upon the edge of a knife,” Galadriel agreed. “Stray but a little and it will fail to the ruin of all.” As she spoke, her probing stare landed on us each in turn. I do not know what she offered the others, what future she presented to them if they chose to abandon the quest, but to me, she offered my heart’s desire. If I abandoned the quest, let Aragorn go on alone, he would surely perish, as Gandalf had done. I had only to return to Rivendell and claim, then, what I had wanted for so long. I dropped my eyes, breaking her hold on my thoughts, rejecting the future she offered. Even if Aragorn died, Arwen would never be mine, and I knew it. I would not abandon my friends for such a false hope. I watched as one by one, my companions looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “Yet hope remains while the company is true.” As she said those words, she looked at Sam and smiled. Sam alone, of us all, met her gaze, though he did not return her smile.

Whatever she read in his heart must have pleased her, for she extended the smile to the rest of us. “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you will sleep in peace.”

Thus dismissed, we followed Haldir back down the winding stairs to a pavilion prepared for us on the ground among the trees. I smiled a little at the location. The Hobbits had been distinctly uncomfortable the night before in the talan near the border. They would be able to rest in the pavilion. 

A fountain nearby provided water for washing. I quickly shed my dirty tunic, splashing water on my face and chest to refresh myself. Later, I would take the time to bathe, but I knew that the news of Gandalf’s death would spread quickly and that a lament would be sung for him. I wanted to be ready for that. I dressed again in a light shirt, leaving off the heavier outer tunic. I did not need it in the safety of Lórien’s borders and the privacy of our pavilion. The Hobbits, too, shed some of their outer layers, as they settled down to rest. I noticed that Boromir and Aragorn, however, did not. Aragorn had relaxed, but had removed only his leather duster, though I could tell that he had bathed. Boromir did not seem even to have relaxed.

As expected, the lament began, softly, solemnly. I saw the question on the faces of my companions. “A lament for Gandalf,” I told them, answering their unspoken query.

“What do they say about him?” Merry asked.

“I have not the heart to tell you,” I answered as the words of the lament washed over me. “For me the grief is still too near.”

“I bet they don’t mention his fireworks,” Sam said. “There should be a verse about them.” He rose and began to speak his tribute.

“The finest rockets ever seen, they burst in stars of blue and green, or after thunder silver showers, came falling like a rain of flowers. Oh, that doesn’t do them justice,” he moaned, sinking back to the blankets he had arranged into a bed. 

Sam’s words might not have done justice to Gandalf’s fireworks, but his earnestness did justice to Gandalf’s friendship, as much if not more than the lament that the Elves were singing. “Sent by the Lords of the West to guard the lands of the East, wisest of all Maiar, what drove you to leave that which you loved?” they asked in song. I already knew the answer to that question. His love for Arda drove him. He knew, as we all did in our company, that we held the fate of Middle Earth in our hands. Frodo could not fail, and if Gandalf had to choose to die to stop him from failing, then Gandalf had made that choice willingly. The singers of the lament did not understand that, perhaps, but I did. I knew that, if faced with the same choice, I would make the same sacrifice. I only hoped that someone would be left to sing a lament for me.

The song changed then, from Quenya to Sindarin, from questioning to mourning. “Mithrandir, Mithrandir, O Pilgrim Grey,” they sang, “no more will you wander the green fields of the earth. Your journey has ended in darkness, the bonds cut, the spirit broken, the Flame of Anor has left this World, a great light has gone out.” I choked back tears as I thought again of the darkness that now held all that was left of Gandalf. I did not know if anything remained, but the thought of my friend lying in the depths of Moria, even if he could not feel it, pained me. I knew we would never find his body, even if the Orcs were not there to hinder us. The passages of Moria were too many and too damaged for us to seek Gandalf’s remains. Then, Gandalf’s words on the bridge came back to me as I listened to the end of the lament. The Flame of Anor. Anor. The ring of fire, third of the Elven rings of power. I knew, though I was not supposed to, that Elrond held Vilya and Galadriel held Nenya. I had not known that Gandalf was Anor’s keeper. I had always believed it resided in the Grey Havens with Cirdan. If Gandalf had indeed held Anor, the loss to Middle Earth was doubly great, for not only had we lost the wisest of the Maiar, if not the most powerful, we had also lost the protection of an Elven ring. I turned my head away from the sight of my companions as the tears flowed down my cheeks unchecked. I cried for Gandalf, lost in the abyss of Moria; I cried for the Fellowship, bereft of his guidance; I cried for Arda, left without the protection his wisdom and his ring could have offered.

I had turned away, not wanting the others to see the depths of my grief, when I heard Aragorn speaking to Boromir. I remained facing away, but I focused a part of my mind on what they were saying.

“Take some rest,” he told Boromir. “These borders are well protected.”

“I will find no rest here,” Boromir replied. “I heard her voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me even now there is hope left. But I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope.” So, Galadriel had spoken not just to me, but to Boromir as well. Perhaps, she had offered us all a path other than the one we were currently on.

“My father is a noble man,” Boromir continued, “but his rule is failing. And now our…” he paused, “our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right, and I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored.” I knew, then, though Boromir did not say it, what vision Galadriel had offered to him. Gondor restored, with Boromir at its head.

“Have you ever seen it Aragorn?” he asked. “The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?”

“I have seen the White City, long ago,” Aragorn answered. Did Boromir have any idea how long ago that had been, I mused, for Aragorn did not look any older than Boromir.

“One day, our paths will lead us there,” Boromir insisted. “And the tower guards shall take up the call: The Lords of Gondor have returned!” Aragorn was silent at that. I knew he had never considered himself a Lord of anything, and I wondered what he thought of Boromir calling him one now, especially given Boromir’s reaction to Aragorn’s identity at the council.

“Legolas?” Gimli’s voice broke into my thoughts. I met his concerned eyes.

“I am fine,” I told him. “The Ring cannot touch me here.” I had heard Galadriel’s voice in my head, but I had heard nothing from the Ring since we left Moria. I did not know if it was the mellyrn or Nenya that was protecting me, but in Lórien, at least, the Ring had no power to torment me.

My grief, on the other hand, was not so easily put aside. “I just need to mourn for Gandalf in my own way,” I assured Gimli before walking away in search of some solace in the privacy of the trees.


	16. Chapters 76-80

Chapter 76

I lost track of time as I wandered alone, beneath the outstretched arms of the mellyrn, comforted by the rustling of the wind in their leaves, by their gentle murmuring. They, too, had known Gandalf. They, too, mourned his passing.

“I feel as if we failed him, somehow.”

I spun around, not having heard Aragorn approach, so deep was I in thought. I considered his words for a moment. “Maybe we did,” I said finally, “but we must go on. We must let his wisdom guide us even when he cannot.”

Aragorn paused to consider my words. “He told me to lead you on, to take his place. I think he knew what was going to happen.”

“They are few who meet a Balrog and live to tell the tale. And they are those who flee, not those who fight. Gandalf chose to fight, knowing what would likely happen, so that we could flee to safety. We must honor that sacrifice,” I told him.

“Who am I to lead this Fellowship?” Aragorn asked, doubt and despair written clearly on his face as he sank to the ground, his anguish obvious in every line of his body.

“A Ranger who has wandered Arda. A soldier who has fought for both Gondor and Rohan. An Elf-friend who speaks Sindarin and Quenya as easily as he speaks Westron. Isildurion, who should be a great leader of Men,” I replied, my faith in him as apparent as his doubts.

“A Ranger because I have no home to call my own,” he retorted. “A soldier because I could not have the life I wanted. An Elf-friend because my father was killed when I was a babe. Isildurion through an accident of birth. These things do not make me a leader.”

“It would seem that your friends have more faith in you than you have in yourself,” I observed. He had not said it, but I suspected that at least part of this was motivated by his fear that Arwen would leave him. “Do you really believe she would leave you? Do you really think so little of yourself?”

“Why should she stay?” Aragorn demanded. “If we survive this folly – if, mind you – if I do as Elrond wants and take the throne I have spent almost seventy years avoiding, we will have perhaps a hundred years together, and then I will die. And she will be alone. To grieve herself to death. I am not worth that.”

Every word he mentioned had crossed my mind at one time or another since they had met, but I knew Arwen’s answer to those concerns, just as I knew my own feelings when faced with the same choice. He did, as well, for I had overheard her telling him herself of her feelings. “Is that not her choice to make?” I challenged.

“I cannot do that to her,” he insisted. 

I wanted to shout at him, to upbraid him, to tell him that it was too late, that her choice was already made. I would have known it even had she said nothing to me. I would have known it just from seeing them together on the bridge in the Garden of Twilight. The light that surrounded them as they kissed had proclaimed the bond that held them more clearly than any words could ever do. Aragorn had clearly not been aware of the glow. Either that, or he did not know its meaning. He wore the sign of her favor, as well, on a fragile chain around his neck. I saw it rarely, for he wore it inside his tunic, but I knew the Evenstar was there, proof of her love even when he doubted it. I wanted to tell him all these things, but I did not, choosing only to lay a hand on his shoulder in comfort.

“You must believe in yourself, Aragorn,” I told him finally.

We sat that way for uncounted minutes before he spoke again. “Did Galadriel show you a future that could be yours if you abandoned the quest?”

“Aye, but it was a lie, even if I were to leave this task to others,” I replied.

“You are sure?” he asked. It made me wonder what Galadriel had shown him. I knew there was no hope of my vision coming true, but that did not mean my companions had the same certainty.

“The future she showed me is one I longed for many years ago, but I knew then, as I know now, that it can never be. This quest does not change that,” I assured him.

Again, he fell silent, and I waited to see if he would tell me more. “She showed me a vision of Arwen and myself in Rivendell,” he said slowly, “children at our feet. I know it cannot come to pass, but I wanted to forget about Frodo, about the Ring, and run back to Arwen. Even knowing that Elrond would never permit our union under those circumstances, I wanted it,” Aragorn admitted.

His vision tortured me. How often had I dreamed of such a life, with myself at Arwen’s side. Even knowing it was forbidden, I had dreamed. I had no hope of ever claiming that life for myself, but Aragorn was not so constrained. That future was a possibility for him, if he would claim it. “Do not see it as a temptation,” I suggested. “See it as a goal. If we succeed, you will be crowned King, and you will see those dreams fulfilled.”

“I sent her away,” he contradicted. “Even if we succeed, she is lost to me. I will live my life and die alone.” 

I knew that was not the case. I knew Arwen would never abandon him, but he would not believe such protestations from me when he had not believed them from the Lady herself. So I would try another tack instead. Perhaps he would believe my vow. 

“You never have to be alone, meldir. As long as I live, you do not have to be alone.” 

They were not the words I would have preferred to speak, but I had lost the right to tell him of my love when I let my pride interfere in our relationship. He had chosen Arwen, and I would not come between them. This vow, though, was one I could make. He looked at me strangely for a moment, as if he did not quite know how to interpret my words. I met his eyes directly, daring him, almost, to question my commitment, but he did not speak. Finally, he looked away, as if gathering his thoughts. Or his courage. When he finally looked up again, it was to reach for me, pulling me into his embrace, his lips coming to meet mine.

Elvish translations

Ae syntrea chen – please

Tyaavo nin – touch me 

Chapter 77

I drew back from him, shocked at the touch of his lips on mine. He had kissed me once before, in Moria, to help me ward off the evil of the Ring, but I had not expected him to kiss me again, especially after I rebuffed him the next night.

I opened my mouth to question, perhaps even to rebuff again. This could not be right, not when I knew that Arwen was waiting for him, faithfully, in Rivendell. She had given permission, but that did not make it right. I was not going to do this. I had decided that already. I just had to tell Aragorn. Before I could utter the first word, his hands closed around my head, holding me in place, and his mouth closed over mine again, tongue surging inside, stilling my words in my throat. All that came out was a guttural moan. Any thought of denying him fled before his determined assault. I knew this was not about love, at least not for him, but I refused to let him turn it into a meaningless, mindless rut. We would take each other in tenderness and comfort, or not at all. Not at all was fast becoming impossible, so I focused my energy on changing the tone, on gentling the kiss we still shared.

As soon as Aragorn understood that I was not going to push him away, he consented to the slower pace, his hands releasing their grip on my head to wander into my hair and over my ears. He had learned finesse in our years apart, I noticed absently, as his fingertips ghosted across the tip of my ear in a teasing caress. I refused to think of where he had learned it. Or with whom. Instead, I relaxed into the touch, murmuring my approval through the kiss.

Unwilling to be only the passive recipient of Aragorn’s feelings, whatever they were, I raised my hands to his face as well, seeking out the familiar texture of his beard, tracing the unfamiliar lines that time and toil had etched into his brow, learning again the silky feel of his hair, testing to see if his weak spots had changed or if all was as I remembered.

His hands left my ears long before I grew tired of their touch, dropping to my shoulders, then to the fastenings on the loose undertunic I wore. In the blink of an eye, he had it undone and hanging loose about me. His hands traced my skin again, as they had not done for sixty-seven years. They were rougher than they had been, with calluses that had developed over the years spent with a sword. The intensity of my emotions almost overwhelmed me. It certainly overwhelmed my grief, any thoughts of the Ring, of anything outside the glade we inhabited. For that moment in time, everything else ceased to exist. All that mattered was the man in my arms. There was no past, with its arguments and misunderstandings, and no future, with its inevitable separation. I forgot everything except Aragorn as I broke the kiss to seek out the tender spot behind his ear that I remembered so well. Aragorn needed something I could offer. That was all I ever needed to know.

His hands clenched reflexively on my back as I rediscovered that sensitive spot. He retaliated by lifting my wrist to his lips, tantalizing me as he had done years before. I had never been able to resist that particular caress, and I still could not. If I had not already been sitting, I would have collapsed at his feet when his tongue darted out to taste my skin, flickering across the inside of my wrist. My free hand went to the belt holding his outer tunic in place. It came loose easily, the tunic sliding from his shoulders, leaving Aragorn clad, like me, in only a thin shirt and leggings.

I pulled back from him for a moment, meeting his eyes. I did not speak, did not ask him if this was what he wanted, but I wanted him to look at me, to see me, and know what he was doing. “I need to feel alive,” he whispered. When he did not turn away, I slipped the shirt from my shoulders and reached for the buttons on his shirt, undoing them swiftly, before stripping the shirt from his body.

I saw the Evenstar hanging on its chain, nestled at the base of his throat, but I forced myself not to dwell on it. Instead, my eyes roamed hungrily over his bare chest, taking in the changes that the years had wrought. There were scars, where before there had been only smooth skin. I traced them, one by one, as if my touch could heal them the way his touch had healed me so long ago. They were proof of his valor, of his prowess in battle. They were also proof of his strength, that he had taken those wounds and survived. As I touched each one, he murmured its origin, sharing a little of his life with me. The last one was the oldest, the scar on his side from the hamlet in the Riddermark,

“A reminder to always watch myself first in battle,” he said with a smile.

I returned the smile, my hands continuing to caress him tenderly. “Have you really learned that lesson?” I questioned. “You did not do so well in Moria.”

He did not respond to my chiding tone, asking instead, “And will I find testaments to your battles as well?” His hands began their own exploration as he spoke. 

“Nay,” I replied, shaking my head. “My scars have long since healed beyond sight. We do not bear the signs of our battles the way you do.”

I sank down onto the fragrant leaves, drawing him down to recline beside me. He rummaged in the pocket of his tunic, retrieving a vial of oil. I almost asked him why he was carrying it, until I remembered that he had been cleaning his sword before I wandered away from the others. He must have stored it in his pocket when he finished.

I leaned on one elbow, looking at him next to me. He was no longer beautiful, not the way he had been at nineteen. The years had weathered him, leaving his skin creased in places, his body solid where it had been lithe before. When I had known him before, he was still a youth, with a youth’s body and face. It was a man who lay beside me there, with the solidity of muscles toned by years of fighting. His hair was shorter than it had been before, more in the style of Men than of Elves. It suited him. No, he was no longer beautiful, but he was no less desirable at eighty-seven than he had been at nineteen.

When I had looked my fill, I lay back, offering him my surrender, hoping that it would show him the depth of my faith and trust in him. His eyes darkened with desire as he looked at my supine form. “You have not changed at all,” he murmured, leaning over me to drop butterfly kisses on my shoulders and chest. I arched into the caress, my body craving contact, any contact, after so long.

The anticipation was killing me. I reached for him, wanting to feel more of him against me. “Ae syntrea chen,” I pleaded, already needing more than he was giving me.

He paused for a moment, watching me with serious eyes. “You trust me so much?” he asked.

He did not realize it, of course, but I trusted him with all that I was. I had no illusions that he loved me the way I loved him, so perhaps I did not trust him with my heart the way I was once willing to do, but I knew that I could trust him with my body and with my life. And, since this time, we both knew what we were agreeing to do, I could trust him even with my heart. “Aye,” I answered just as seriously.

That was apparently just what he needed to hear. He breathed a great sigh of relief, then kissed me passionately. His hands slid down to the waistband of my leggings, teasing. Tantalizing. Tempting me to give in and let him take me, take control. I raised my hips, entreating him to continue. He did, loosening the laces and sliding them down my thighs to my knees. I could all but feel the doubt leaving him as he rediscovered the delights of my body.

His hands on my skin remained gentle, with a sense almost of wonder, as he caressed me lightly. I forced myself to stillness as I had so often done before, giving him the time he needed to habituate himself to what we were doing. This time, it was not his inexperience that he needed to overcome, but his doubts and fears. I could not work out those fears for him; I could only be there when he was ready. Fortunately, that process did not take as long as I feared. He had soon stripped my boots and leggings from me, leaving me completely exposed to his gaze. 

His hands were eager when they returned to me, caressing and kneading the muscles in my chest, working across my abdomen to spread my thighs so he could lie between them. As he leaned against me to take one of my nipples in his mouth, I felt the brush of the Evenstar against my skin. I had not removed it, and neither had he. I almost stopped him then, but, in the end, I did not. Arwen had given her permission for this to happen, if it became necessary. Since it had become necessary, perhaps it was right for this reminder of her to be there, between us.

I relaxed into his touch, letting the coolness of the jewel arouse rather than distract me, until it seemed that Arwen was a part of our actions as well. I threaded my fingers into his hair, drawing him closer as he nipped at my flesh. I wanted more than he was giving me, and while I wanted to let him to control this, as he could control so little at that point, he was fast pushing me to the edge of my self-control.

He gave me what I wanted, closing his mouth over my tight nipple, laving it with his tongue. And all the while, the Evenstar brushed against my stomach, a constant reminder of the one we both loved.

When he grew tired of my nipples, his lips trailed down to my navel, teasing there as he had done in the past. I moved into his touch, relishing the feel of him again after so long. It could not have been intentional on his part, when the Evenstar teased my arousal. If I had believed it was intentional, I would have stopped him, but he could not have known what it was doing to me.

“Ae syntrea chen,” I begged. “Tyaavo nin.” I did not tell him where to touch me, or how, but he understood, sliding lower to take my straining shaft in his mouth, something he had never done before. I kept myself from thrusting into his mouth by sheer will alone. I wanted to bury myself deep in his heat, but this was a new experience for him. I had loved him this way more than once, but he had never returned the favor. I had, once again, to let him set the pace.

He explored the tip of my erection with his tongue, driving me wild with desire, before taking more of me into his mouth and sucking gently on my overheated flesh. I squirmed beneath him to avoid pushing myself on him, but he took the hint, swallowing still more of my aching arousal. Then, the incredible happened. The motion of his head caused the Evenstar to land between my legs, bumping gently against my sensitive sacs. Whenever Arwen had loved me this way, one of her hands would always fondle me just where the Evenstar was touching. For the slightest moment, I thought I felt her cool touch again. It sent me over the edge, and with a shout, I came in Aragorn’s mouth.

All my strength disappeared with my climax, and I lay there, boneless, waiting for Aragorn’s reaction. He surged up over me, his mouth coming down on mine almost brutally as he kissed me. His hand fumbled with the oil, coating his fingers and his erection. The time for tenderness had passed. His fingers were insistent as they found their way inside my tight passage, preparing me for him again after so many years. I was so relaxed after my unexpected orgasm that he had no trouble at all penetrating me. He probably could have taken me with no preparation at all.

When he slid inside me, finally, all the years fell away, and the passion between us burned as it had before, bringing down all the barriers I had constructed around my heart. It did not matter that he loved another. It did not matter that we had been estranged for many years. Nothing mattered but that we were together for that moment. I knew then, as I know now, that I would take whatever he offered and be grateful. The trees could keep me alive, even keep me sane, but only he and Arwen had ever been able to make me whole.

Elvish translations

Hannon chen – thank you

Nach maetolo – you’re welcome

Losto mae – sleep well

Maer aur – good morning

Meldir - friend

Chapter 78

Slowly, slowly, we separated, becoming two bodies again, instead of one. I traced the line of Aragorn’s jaw tenderly, hoping I had succeeded in giving him some measure of comfort, some inkling of my faith in him.

“I am going to the hot springs to bathe properly. Would you care to join me?” I asked lightly.

“I should not,” Aragorn answered softly.

I nodded. “I will see you back at the pavilion, then, when I am done.”

“Legolas…” he began.

I smiled and kissed him softly. “Losto mae, meldir. We can talk in the morning.” With that, I gathered my clothes and went to the springs. I realized, as I sank into the hot water, that I was dealing with this better than Aragorn was, for all that he had turned to me for comfort. I knew exactly what I was to him, and our lovemaking had not blurred that line for me. He had needed comfort, and I could provide it. He knew me. He trusted me. He had been loved by me before. I was a safe harbor in the storm that had blown into his life. I wished things could have been different. I wished he could have loved me the way I loved him, but he did not. I had accepted it already. Our renewed intimacy changed nothing, except to fill my heart again. Moria had drained me of all my reserves. A day spent in Lórien had helped, but the time in Aragorn’s arms had completed the task. I was truly whole again.

My mind turned to the sensation of the Evenstar trailing across my skin, touching me intimately. I could not vanquish the feeling that Arwen had somehow been a part of what we had shared. I wondered vaguely about the bond she and Aragorn had created. Could they touch each other’s minds? Sense each other’s needs? If so, I hoped she knew that I was the one Aragorn was with that night, and that it was truly necessary.

When I felt lethargy settling into my muscles, I forced myself to leave the comforting warmth of the spring and return to the camp. I did not want to worry the others by my absence.

I was not surprised to find that the Hobbits and Gimli were already asleep when I returned. Boromir had not moved from where he and Aragorn had talked earlier. He was not asleep, but he was so lost in thought that he did not even look up when I came back. Only Aragorn saw me return. I saw confusion in his eyes as he looked at me. I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile before arranging my bedroll near the Hobbits and preparing to sleep.

I felt his eyes on me for a long time before he finally fell asleep. He obviously had concerns about what had passed between us. I hoped to show him by my actions that I understood and accepted what we had shared. I expected nothing more from him because of our lovemaking than I had before. He was my friend, because Arwen held his heart. I had no intention of trying to seduce him away from her. I doubt I could have succeeded, had I tried, but it never occurred to me to try. Not then. Not ever.

I heard the Hobbits rise the next morning when Haldir came to show them where they could eat. I feigned sleep as they left, whispering loudly at each other to be quiet. Soon after, Gimli and Boromir rose and left as well. Only then did I let my eyes focus and my body shift. Aragorn sat on his bedroll, watching me as he had done the night before.

“Maer aur, meldir,” I greeted him, sitting up to face him.

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Legolas, last night…”

I interrupted him. I knew it was rude, but I needed to stop him before he said something we would both regret. “Do not say it. You love Arwen, and Arwen loves you. Last night, you needed comfort, and she was not there to give it. I was, and I did, just as she asked. I knew it then, and I know it now. I am not expecting anything, except perhaps that you stop doubting yourself.”

“You are a good friend, to comfort me so. Hannon chen.”

“Nach maetolo.” Anytime, I wanted to say, but I did not. I would not offer what he could not accept. I started to rise, to seek my own breakfast, when he spoke again.

“She would understand what happened, would she not?” he asked.

The conversation was obviously not over yet. “I believe she would,” I replied. “She knew before we left Rivendell that we were going into great peril. She knew we would face danger, even death, and that, if it did not claim us, it might claim our companions. She asked me to be your friend, to comfort you if you needed it. Last night, you needed it.”

“I still feel as I have let her down somehow,” he said softly.

“Because you sought comfort at all, or because you sought it in my arms?” I asked bluntly.

“Some of both,” he admitted.

“You said she spoke to you before we left. What did she say?” I needed to know so I would know how best to handle this conversation.

“She said she had asked you to keep me safe, to take care of me. Whatever it took,” he answered.

“Do you think she lied?”

“She would never lie to me,” he exclaimed.

“Then she meant it when she said whatever it took.”

“I suppose,” he said slowly.

“You were wallowing in fear and grief last night, so much that you doubted everything about yourself. You turned to me for comfort. As she asked. She will not begrudge you the comfort you so obviously needed,” I assured him.

“And yet…”

“And yet nothing,” I cut in, a little frustrated now. “You have only betrayed her if last night was about more than comfort. If last night was about desire, passion, love.” He looked guilty. I almost sighed. For someone his age, he could be terribly dense at times. “Not if you felt desire. Only if you started it because of desire. Why did you kiss me?”

“I felt so alone. So worthless. Your faith in me never wavered. And then, when you promised I would never have to be alone, I needed to know for sure.”

“You needed comfort, and I could provide it. Just as Arwen asked. Do you know how I know it was not a betrayal?” I asked.

“How?”

“You did not remove her jewel,” I said, reaching out to touch the Evenstar on its chain around his neck. “If last night had been about us, you would have taken this off before coming to me. Trust me, meldir. You have nothing to regret.”

Chapter 79

We spent days in Lórien, refreshing our bodies and our minds. Haldir left after the first few days to return to his patrol, but he stopped to say good-bye before he left, even exchanging courteous words with Gimli. I spent little time with the Fellowship, preferring to walk in the woods and draw strength from the trees and my memories. I also did not want Aragorn to feel that I expected anything from him because of the night we had spent together. Sometimes, I would take my bow with me to hunt, but just as often, I did not, simply enjoying the freedom of the forest. At first, I wandered alone, but soon, Gimli began to join me, stomping along beside me as I tried to show him the beauty of the woods, much like he later shared with me the beauty of Aglarond. We talked or were silent, as the mood struck us, gaining an ease in each other’s company that I would have sworn was impossible between Elf and Dwarf only months before. Though we did not speak of it then, he became my friend in those days.

“Do you hear the Ring here?” he asked me one day.

“No,” I replied. “I have not heard it since we left Moria. Do you hear it?”

“Nay, lad. I do not.” I suppressed a smile every time he called me lad, as he had taken to doing. He was older than the Hobbits or the Men, but I was older by far. I doubted he could even begin to comprehend the time I had already lived. Still, it pleased me that he called me such. It was just one small sign of a friendship that I already cherished, though we had yet to acknowledge it.

“Who is it tempting, then?” he asked. “It cannot have given up.”

“I am sure it has not,” I answered, “but do not underestimate the power in these woods. Here, within the Lady’s domain, it may be that we are safe.”

“And when we leave here? Who will be its next target?”

I had not considered that so I did not answer immediately. “I fear it will be Boromir,” I said finally.

“Aye,” Gimli replied, “that is my thought as well, though Aragorn seems a likely target, too.”

“Aragorn?” I said, surprised. “Why?”

“Because he is heir to the throne of Gondor. Combine the power of the throne with the power of the Ring, and he would be the most powerful Man in Middle Earth,” Gimli observed, as if I were daft not to have seen it.

“It would be a lie,” I told him.

“Of course it would be. Everything the Ring offers is a lie, but it is a temptation. Can Aragorn resist?”

“I believe he can. He has known for almost seventy years who he is and he has never made any move to take the throne. He does not want it,” I assured Gimli.

“Not want it?” Gimli repeated incredulously. I nodded. “What does he want, then?”

“The Lady of Imladris,” I replied, “though you must not tell him that I told you. She is all he has wanted since the day he laid eyes on her.” I realized as I spoke that I could say those words with less anguish than previously. It seemed that our lovemaking had eased some of my own pain as well. “But he cannot have her unless we succeed. He, of all of us, is probably least likely to succumb to the Ring because taking it means losing all he has ever desired. There is little he could do to drive her away, but if he took the Ring, he would lose her forever.” I did not tell Gimli that Aragorn feared having lost her already. Aragorn needed us to believe in him. I did not want Gimli doubting him.

“Then it will be Boromir,” Gimli decided. “We must watch him closely. I do not know what we can do to help him, but we must do what we can.”

I decided, at that moment, to confide in Gimli. “There may be a way to resist the Ring. Master Erestor, Lord Elrond’s chief councilor, believes that those whose hearts are ruled by love can resist the Ring, at least for a time. Aragorn’s love should protect him, but I know nothing of Boromir.”

Gimli pondered my revelation. “Nor do I,” he said finally. “So Aragorn is safe. What of the others?”

“I do not know. Now that we are out of Moria, the trees should protect me well enough, and the Hobbits seem to have a natural resistance.” I did not ask about Gimli’s heart. Even then, I knew how secretive Dwarves were when it came to anything personal. Besides, if I was not going to tell him the full truth about myself, I could not really ask him to do so.

“You have not asked me about my heart,” he observed.

“Do I need to ask?” I countered.

“Nay,” he replied. He later told me of the woman he had loved and lost in a mining disaster, explaining to me that Dwarves loved only once, and that when they did, they loved completely and forever. Tales were told of Gimli’s love for Galadriel, but it was really only a deep and abiding admiration. His love was reserved for Dís, his dead lady. Even that day, though, I did not question his assertion. There was no doubt in his voice as he answered me. I accepted that he knew his own heart.

“Is there nothing we can do to help Boromir, then?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Perhaps the friendship that he has developed with Merry and Pippin will help him, if he does not have a love waiting for him in Gondor. Otherwise, all we can do is watch him and intervene if it becomes necessary,” I replied.

“I do not relish a fight with him. He is a mighty warrior,” Gimli commented.

“He is indeed, but even the mightiest can fall to a well-placed arrow.” They were prophetic words, though they came about differently than we imagined that day.

“Let us hope it does not come to that,” Gimli said.

“Let us hope,” I agreed, and we changed the subject. But the thought stayed in my mind. I had seen Boromir at the council and again on the way up Caradhras. The Ring certainly seemed to have targeted him. I began keeping my bow within reach, even in our pavilion, though Boromir showed no sign of being tempted in Lórien.

Chapter 80

The time came at last to leave the shelter of Lórien. We gathered on the banks of the Silverlode to prepare for our departure. The Galadhrim furnished us with three canoes that would carry us downriver to the Anduin and, from there, as far as the falls of Rauros. Merry and Pippin sat on the edge of one of the boats as I helped Elves load them with supplies. Among the packages, I found lembas wrapped in mellyrn leaves. I showed one of the wafers to the Hobbits.

“Lembas!” I told them, taking a bite. “Elvish Way-bread. One small bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown man.”

I stowed the parcels and returned to shore to see what else needed to be done, but not before I heard Merry ask, “How many did you eat?”

“Four,” Pippin replied. I stifled my laughter. Only the Hobbits could eat like that! I noticed Aragorn and Celeborn walking together in deep conversation. I could hear only parts of what they were saying.

“Mordor Orcs now hold the eastern shore of the Anduin,” Celeborn warned Aragorn. I missed the next part of what he said, catching only the words “White Hand.” Still, anything that involved Saruman could not be good for us. I wondered what Celeborn knew of the wizard’s plans.

They paused in their conversation, and Celeborn handed Aragorn a dagger of Elvish make. As Aragorn looked at the dagger, Celeborn issued another warning. “Lle aphadar aen.” They spoke for a few minutes more, though I could make out none of their words. I would talk to Aragorn when I had a chance. The banks of the Anduin were forested. If I knew what questions to ask, perhaps the trees would be able to give us some information.

When all was in readiness with the boats, Galadriel and Celeborn gathered us on the banks of the Silverlode. A group of Elves appeared behind them, bearing the silver-grey cloaks of the Galadhrim. As the Elves approached us, Celeborn spoke. “Never before,” he told us, “have we clad strangers in the garb of our own people.” Lórien Elves placed the cloaks around our shoulders, pinning them with the mallorn leaf broaches that symbolized the realm. “May these cloaks help shield you from unfriendly eyes.” 

When we were clad, the other Elves stepped back, leaving only Galadriel facing us. She approached me first. “My gift for you, Legolas, is a bow of the Galadhrim, worthy of the skill of our woodland kin,” she said, handing me a bow. I examined it carefully. I had always been in awe of the bows that Haldir and the others carried. It was longer than mine, and strung with elf-hair. I raised a hand to my heart, bowing to the Lady.

She smiled and moved on to Merry and Pippin, standing next to me. “These are the daggers of the Noldorin,” she told them, handing them each a dagger. “They have already seen service in war. Do not fear, young Peregrin Took. You will find your courage.” I saw again their awe and perhaps a little bit of fear in their eyes. It was an odd feeling, I knew, to know that someone had seen your future, whether they shared it with you or not.

“And for you, Samwise Gamgee: Elven rope, made of hithlain.” Sam took the rope and thanked her before asking hesitantly. “Have you run out of those nice, shiny daggers?” 

Galadriel smiled but did not reply. Instead, she turned to Gimli. “And what gift would a Dwarf ask of the Elves?”

“Nothing,” Gimli replied gruffly, “except to look upon the Lady of the Galadhrim one last time, for she is more fair than all the jewels beneath the earth.”

I heard then a sound I had never heard in all my visits to Lórien. Galadriel giggled. I had heard her laugh on many occasions, but this was the pleased giggle of a young maiden. We took it as a sign of our dismissal and moved away to the boats. I did not hear the rest of the conversation between Gimli and the Lady of the Golden Wood.

As I helped the others into the boats, I saw Galadriel talking with Aragorn. She reached up and touched the Evenstar, clearly on display around Aragorn’s neck. “I have nothing greater to give than the gift you already bear. Am meleth dîn. I ant e-guil Arwen Undómiel…pelitha,” Galadriel told him. It was true. What greater gift could she have given than Arwen’s love and the sacrifice that would entail.

I could see the sorrow in both their eyes, though for different reasons. Galadriel mourned the eventual loss of her granddaughter. Aragorn mourned his decision to send Arwen away. “Aníron i e broniatha ar periatham amar hen,” Aragorn said earnestly. He may even have believed, at that moment, that he wanted Arwen to go and be with the Elves. Our own future was so uncertain that it would be a travesty for Arwen to sacrifice herself if we did not survive. “Aníron e ciratha a Valannor.”

“That choice is yet before her,” Galadriel assured him. I wondered if she realized how fully bound Aragorn and Arwen were. Even her mirror was not infallible. “You have your own choice to make, Aragorn…to rise above the height of all your fathers since the days of Elendil, or to fall into darkness…with all that is left of your kin.” Aragorn looked shocked at the bluntness of her words, yet he had to have known that she spoke the truth. The moment of decision was coming ever closer for him, and his eyes suggested that he knew it. 

“Namárië,” she said finally, bidding him good-bye. “Nadath nâ i moe cerich, Elessar.” It was a challenge, to do all that needed to be done.

We boarded the boats, then, Merry and Pippin with Boromir, Frodo and Sam with Aragorn, and Gimli with me, and began our trek down the river. I heard Elvish voices raised again in song as we left, a song of parting this time. I paddled almost without thought, caught up in my memories, all of my memories, of Lórien: the times spent there with Arwen, with the twins, and finally with the Fellowship. I returned to those woods one more time, many years later, but the magic had long since left them, and my mission then was one of grief.

We had traveled some distance when Gimli sighed. “I have taken the worst wound at this parting, having looked my last upon that which is fairest. Henceforth I will call nothing fair unless it be her gift to me.”

I had not seen Galadriel give him a gift, so I was surprised at his comment. My curiosity was overwhelming. I did not know if Gimli would tell me, but I had to ask. “What was her gift?”

To my surprise and delight, Gimli answered me. “I asked her for one hair from her golden head. She gave me three.”

I smiled at that. Once I had believed that Dwarves could find beauty only in things of value, in jewels and metals that could be hoarded or traded for other things of beauty. I had been taught that they found nothing to love in the world above ground. That might have been true of some Dwarves. It may even have been true of most Dwarves, but it was not true of this one. I had heard Galadriel ask him what he wanted from the Elves. If all he had asked for was a hair from Galadriel’s head, then he had asked for little indeed.

I did not know, then, of Gimli’s lost love, but I heard the devotion to the Lady in his voice, and never again worried about his heart and the Ring. Though I appreciated my bow and put it to good use over the remainder of the quest, I still maintain that Gimli received the best gift of us all, for his gift was a gift of the heart.


	17. Chapters 81-85

Elvish translations

Daro – stop

Chapter 81

We journeyed south on first the Silverlode, then the Anduin, for ten days, out of Lórien, past the Brown Lands and the Riddermark. The terrain was desolate, wearing on us all, but especially, I think, on me. Lórien had been such a balm to my senses, surrounded by the mellyrn that had cradled me in their strength. To then be surrounded, first by the barrenness of the Brown Lands, and then by the empty plains of Rohan was a shock to my senses.

On the third night from Lórien, we made camp on a rocky beach on the west side of the Anduin. Sam built a small fire, to heat water for tea. The rest of us set about making camp. Boromir crouched on the bank of the river, peering across it from behind a boulder at a log that floated to the opposite bank.

At that moment, Aragorn noticed Boromir’s concentration. “Gollum,” Aragorn told him. “He has tracked us since Moria.”

I knew that Gollum had followed us in Moria, but I had not seen or sensed him since. I did not know how he had found his way unseen through or around Lórien.

“I had hoped we would lose him on the river. But he's too clever a waterman,” Aragorn added.

“And if he alerts the enemy to our whereabouts,” Boromir warned, “it will make the crossing even more dangerous.” Boromir was right, of course, but I was not so sure that Gollum would have any willing contact with the servants of the Enemy. He had suffered much at their hands already.

Then, another conversation caught my attention. Sam was trying to take care of our Ringbearer. “Have some food, Mr. Frodo,” he urged.

Frodo refused.

“You haven't eaten anything all day,” Sam insisted. “You're not sleeping, either. Don't think I haven't noticed, Mr. Frodo…” The devotion in Sam’s voice was clear. He was going to find a way to help his friend, if it was the last thing he did.

“I'm all right,” Frodo replied, a little tersely. Gimli and I had worried about Boromir, but I began to wonder if we should have worried more about Frodo. Not that we could relieve him of his burden, but it was becoming clear that the Ring was wearing on Frodo. Even Hobbits, it seemed, were not completely resistant to the Ring. 

“But you're not!” Sam exclaimed. “I'm here to help you. I promised Gandalf that I would.”

“You can't help me, Sam,” Frodo said sadly. “Not this time... Get some sleep.” Sam fussed a little more, only to be rebuffed again. Eventually, he did as Frodo asked and left him alone, though his eyes did not leave Frodo until they closed in sleep.

“Minas Tirith is the safer road,” Boromir said, drawing my attention back to the two Men. “You know it. From there, we can regroup…strike out for Mordor from a place of strength.” As he spoke, he left the rock where he had been hiding and approached Aragorn.

“There is no strength in Gondor that can avail us,” Aragorn replied bluntly. I winced, wondering how Boromir would react to those words.

Predictably.

“You were quick enough to trust the Elves,” he accused. “Have you so little faith in your own people?” If only Boromir knew how little Aragorn considered Men his own people. “Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty. But there is courage also, and honor to be found in Men. But you will not see that.” Aragorn turned to walk away, unwilling to have this argument. “You are afraid!” Boromir accused. “All your life, you have hidden in the shadows! Scared of who you are, of what you are.” I almost interfered. Then, I realized that, while I did not agree with Boromir’s plan, he was saying things to Aragorn that Aragorn needed to hear, and that I dared not say

Aragorn pulled away roughly before turning back. “I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city.” He stalked away, then.

“Aragorn?” I said softly.

Aragorn turned on me. “Is he right?” he asked in Elvish.

“About some things,” I replied. “I do not think we should go to Minas Tirith, if that is what you are asking. But he is right about you hiding. I do not know where our road will take us, but you cannot hide from who you are forever. Especially if you want to fulfill your dreams. Destroying the Ring will not be enough.”

“I know. The King of Gondor and Arnor or not at all.”

“Would it be such a terrible thing?” I asked.

“I am a soldier, Legolas, a Ranger. What do I know of statecraft?”

“You are more than a soldier. You are a captain. You are more than a Ranger. You are the Dúnadan. And I suppose you learned nothing from Erestor and Elrond. Try again,” I challenged.

He did not answer me. 

“What is it you really fear?” I asked.

“That I will succumb to the lure of the Ring, just as Isildur did,” he said finally.

At last, an honest answer.

“Have you heard the Ring whispering to you?” I asked.

“Not since we left Imladris,” he replied.

“Do you want it?” I asked.

“Nay,” he spat out. “I only want to see it destroyed. Do you want it?”

“Not now. In Moria, I was tempted, because of the infernal darkness. But since we escaped, I have not felt the slightest inclination toward it.”

“I do not want it,” Aragorn repeated, “but I still fear it. If I have not heard it yet, perhaps that is because it bides its time, seeking to corrupt the weakest first. Or perhaps I am just not aware of its working. How do I know what is real and what is the Ring? Even these doubts. Is the Ring making me doubt myself to weaken me?”

“Daro!” I told him. I wanted to pull him into my arms, to kiss him and love away his doubts, but we had no privacy, there on the shore of the river, our companions asleep just feet away. I took his hand instead, and closed it around the Evenstar. “This is real.” I lowered his hand to his heart. “This is real.” I brought his hand to my heart. “This is real. Hold on to those things. You are allowed to doubt, Aragorn. You are allowed to question. Just do not doubt the things that you know to be true. Get some rest, now. I will watch tonight.”

He started to protest, but I laid a finger across his lips. “Rest.”

Chapter 82

As we continued south on the river, cover became harder and harder to find as the shores changed from the woods of Lórien to barren rock. I could feel evil stirring on both banks. Mordor Orcs were obviously what I sensed on the eastern shore, but I could not identify the threat on the western bank. The bits of conversation I had overhead between Celeborn and Aragorn came back to me. When we stopped that night, I resolved to ask Aragorn about it. 

When the others had settled in to sleep, I sat down beside Aragorn. He smiled at me absently, lost in whatever thoughts had plagued him all day. “What did Celeborn warn you about before we left Lórien?” I asked him.

“He said that strange creatures bearing Saruman’s mark had been seen on the borders of Lórien and that they traveled openly under the sun, which is most unlike the Orcs. He thinks they are tracking us.” 

“Perhaps we would do well to travel by night. We would be less visible if we did,” I suggested.

He agreed, and we started traveling at night to avoid being seen. 

On the eighth night out of Lórien, we reached the rapids of Sarn Gebir. We managed to stop the boats before we were driven into the rapids, but the current was pushing us steadily toward the eastern shore. We struggled with all our strength to pull away and head for the other bank. As we did, I heard the twang of bowstrings. Several arrows whistled overhead, and some fell among us. One struck Frodo between the shoulders, but it bounced off his coat of mithril. Another passed through the hood of Aragorn’s cloak, and a third landed in the gunwale of Boromir’s boat, close by Merry’s hand. “Yrch!” I shouted, before realizing I had spoken in Elvish.

“Orcs!” Gimli cried at the same moment, recognizing the threat as quickly as I did. We all strained at the paddles, even the Hobbits, trying to move out of the reach of their arrows. Many more flew overhead or landed in the water near us, but none struck us or our boats again. It was not so dark to have confounded the eyes of the Orcs, used to seeing in the dark. I wondered if our Lórien cloaks were shielding us from their eyes. Finally, we arrived under the shadow of the bushes on the western bank. As soon as we hit the shore, I exchanged my paddle for my new bow, climbing far enough up the bank to have a clear shot. The distance of the river was nothing for a bow of the Galadhrim, but, although I could hear the shrill cries of the Orcs, I could see no movement to tell me where to aim.

Even as I stood, seeking a target, darkness seemed to cover the stars, as if a cloud moved in suddenly. “Elbereth Gilthoniel!” I sighed, looking up. A dark shape came, then, out of the south, moving far too swiftly to be a cloud, and soon I saw a great winged creature flying above us. Fierce voices across the river rose up to greet the apparition. I did not know, then, what flew above us, though I later recognized its haunting cry when I saw the winged beasts of the Nazgûl, but I did know that it was evil. I took aim and let loose an arrow. My bow sang as the arrow flew into the creature above, bringing it down onto the eastern shore. We heard nothing more that night.

“Praised be the bow of Galadriel and the hand and the eye of Legolas!” Gimli said later, as he munched on a piece of lembas. “That was a mighty shot in the dark, my friend!”

I smiled at the compliment and at the word friend. “But who can say what it hit?” I asked.

“I cannot,” Gimli replied, “but I am glad that the shadow came no nearer. I liked it not at all. Too much it reminded me of the shadow in Moria – the shadow of the Balrog,” he ended in a whisper.

“It was not a Balrog,” said Frodo, though how he knew for certain, I never asked. “It was something colder. I think it was…” he paused and did not finish his sentence.

“What do you think?” Boromir prompted.

“I think…” Frodo began. “No, I will not say. Whatever it was, its fall has dismayed our enemies.”

“So it seems,” Aragorn answered. None of us slept for the rest of the night. When dawn came, we searched for a path around the treachery of Sarn Gebir, for none had ever navigated it and survived. When we finally made our way to the bottom of that obstacle, we were too tired to continue that day. So we slept again on the banks of the Anduin and, on the morning of the tenth day, set out one last time. Towards noon, we passed the Gates of the Argonath, the Pillars of the Kings. I stared with awe at the likenesses of Isildur and Anárion, the sons of Elendil. They were carved into the mountain, towering above the river, hands outstretched as if to bar the way. On their heads, they wore the helms and crowns that signified their rank, axes in hand as if ready still to defend their homes.

“Frodo, the Argonath!” Aragorn said, tapping Frodo’s shoulder. “Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old. My kin.”

As we passed under their shadow, I could almost imagine that I heard the words that Elendil spoke when he came up out of the Sea on the wings of the wind and that Aragorn spoke the day of his crowning. “Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta!” Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place I will abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world! 

When we had passed through the Argonath, we arrived in the lake of Nen Hithoel, at the top of the falls of Rauros. On the left stood Amon Lhaw, and on the right Amon Hen, where in the days of the kings, watch was kept. And in the middle, Tol Brandir, a pinnacle of sheer rock where none, neither man nor beast, had ever set foot. We made for the gravel beach on the western shore. 

When we disembarked, Aragorn and the others settled in to make camp. I noticed Boromir’s hesitation before he left his boat, and I wondered about it, but I said nothing. Perhaps he was simply tired from the journey. When all was well in hand, Aragorn turned to us. “We cross the lake at nightfall,” he said. “Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the north.”

“Oh, yes?” Gimli challenged. “It's just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil? An impassable labyrinth of razor sharp rocks! And after that, it gets even better!”

I was almost amused at Pippin’s alarmed face. “Festering, stinking marshlands, far as the eye can see!’ Gimli continued, describing the Dead Marshes that lay between Emyn Muil and the Black Gate.

Aragorn was implacable. “That is our road. I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf.”

Gimli did not care at all for that suggestion. “Recover my…?” he sputtered angrily. Another time, I might have been amused by the antics of my friend, but the threat I had been sensing since we left Lórien was growing close. Too close.

“We should leave now,” I told Aragorn.

“No. Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for cover of darkness,” he disagreed.

I tried again. “It is not the eastern shore that worries me. A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind. Something draws near...I can feel it!” I did not want to say more, hoping Aragorn would remember the morning on the point, when I had sensed the Orcs before they attacked. I focused on the dark pine woods behind us, seeing every detail. The individual trees, the brooding statue hiding in the shadows. These trees did not know me and would not give me the detail I wanted, but I could sense their concern over whatever was moving through their realm.

“No Dwarf need recover strength!” Gimli continued to mutter. “Pay no heed to that, young Hobbit.”

Before Aragorn could make up his mind about my advice, Merry asked, “Where's Frodo?”

That caused us all to look around, even me. Frodo was nowhere in sight. And neither was Boromir. It seemed too great a coincidence, given the struggle we had already witnessed between Boromir and the Ring. I met Aragorn’s eyes, then Gimli’s, and as one, we moved into the woods, searching for either of our missing companions.

We split up to search. It did not matter who found either one, only that Frodo and Boromir not be alone together. I ran through the trees, calling for Frodo as I searched, looking for any sign that either of my companions had passed, but Hobbits pass lightly, and their sign was difficult for even an Elf or a Ranger to read. 

I spoke to the trees again as I passed, to no avail. They could not or would not give me any useful details, though I felt their growing distress. Then, I heard the sounds of battle and the cries of Orcs.

All thought fled but one: my promise to Arwen to watch Aragorn’s back. I could only do that if I was there. I drew my bow and ran up the hill toward the sound of the fighting. As I neared, I saw Gimli running to join the battle as well. 

As soon as I was within range, I fired, again and again, as rapidly as I could take aim. Behind me, Gimli wielded his axe with deadly efficiency. “Aragorn, go!” I shouted, when I saw him looking around even as he fought. I fired again to cover his back as he started down the hill. I kept him in sight as much as possible. When the horde of Uruks became too much for my speed with a bow, I drew my knives, using one to parry and the other to stab my foes, twirling away from a falling corpse to meet the next adversary. 

Then, when there was a space between the foul creatures, I returned to my bow, for I could kill far more efficiently with it than with my knives. As I shot repeatedly, I saw Aragorn out of the corner of my eye, locked in a struggle with one of the Uruks. Its hands were around his neck. I paused, just long enough for Aragorn to turn the creature’s back to me, then I fired again, killing the Uruk and freeing Aragorn. 

At that moment, a ringing sound cut through the air. “The Horn of Gondor,” I exclaimed, recognizing the call.

“Boromir!” Aragorn cried, and ran down the hill. Gimli and I followed, but the Uruk-Hai were many, each trying to block our path. I quickly lost sight of Aragorn. I forced my mind to stay on the battle in front of me and not to stray to Aragorn, somewhere farther down the hill. The Horn of Gondor sounded a second time, increasing my anxiety as I tried to follow Aragorn’s trail. We fought and fought, losing count of how many we brought down, but there were always more, coming at us from all sides, keeping us from our friends. Keeping me from my love. ‘Arwen, forgive me if he perishes,’ I thought. ‘I did my best.’

Then, finally, there were no more foes. Gimli and I followed the trail of bodies, but I ran ahead, unwilling to wait on his shorter legs. If Aragorn was wounded, time was of the essence. The sooner I reached him, the sooner I could try to help.

The scene that greeted me when, at last, I came upon Aragorn and Boromir was out of my worst nightmares. Boromir lay on the ground, three black arrows protruding from his body, and Aragorn was on the ground next to him. It took me a moment to realize that Aragorn was mostly unhurt.

Boromir’s dying words drifted across the forest to me. “I would have followed you, my brother,” he choked out with the little breath left in his body. “My Captain. My King!” And then there was silence. 

Aragorn touched his hand to his forehead, then to his lips. “Be at peace, son of Gondor,” he whispered as he kissed Boromir’s forehead.

For the second time on the quest, death had touched our lives, stealing another of our companions. Next to me, Gimli bowed his head and turned away, but I could not. The sight of Boromir, lying there, his face pale and waxy in death, held me transfixed. We had been denied Gandalf’s body, the preparing of it, the consigning of it to an eternal rest. We owed it to Boromir to honor his sacrifice as best we could.

Aragorn rose while I stood there. “They will look for his coming from the White Tower, but he will not return,” Aragorn said, not turning yet to face us. When he did, I could see the tears that he refused to let fall from his eyes. 

“We must tend the fallen,” I said softly. “We cannot leave him lying here like carrion among these foul Orcs.”

“Let us lay him in a boat with his weapons, and the weapons of his vanquished foes,” Aragorn said. “We will send him to the Falls of Rauros and give him to the Anduin. The River of Gondor will take care at least that no evil creature dishonors his bones.”

Gimli and I agreed to his suggestion, for there was no time to bury him fitly or raise a cairn over him there. As Aragorn removed the arrows from Boromir’s chest, I could not help but recall my words to Gimli in Lórien about arrows felling even the mightiest warrior. How I wished I had never spoken those words, as if somehow my speech had made them a reality. Gimli and I gathered the weapons of the fallen Orcs to lay in the boat with Boromir. As I picked up sword after sword, I realized again just how able a warrior Boromir had been. I did not count the number that had died by his sword, but they were many indeed. As we searched among the bodies, the white hand was in evidence on every one. Saruman indeed was the source of the creatures, larger and fouler than any Orcs I had ever encountered. 

We placed Boromir finally in one of the two remaining boats. We could just see the third across the lake. Before we released the boat to carry Boromir to his final resting place, Aragorn reached for the vambraces that had protected Boromir’s wrists, adorned with the White Tree of Gondor, symbol of the country and of the empty throne. We watched the boat until it passed over the Falls of Rauros.

I prepared the last boat as Aragorn strapped on Boromir’s bracers. I knew the Uruks had taken Merry and Pippin, and I mourned their loss, but our first responsibility was to the quest and to Frodo. “Hurry! Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore,” I urged. Silence greeted my words.

I turned to look at Aragorn whose eyes were fixed on the other side of the lake. I could read the struggle within him on his face. To go with Frodo or to follow Merry and Pippin. He blinked and looked away.

“You mean not to follow them?” I asked. I did not know then of his conversation with Frodo on Amon Hen, of Frodo’s insistence that he go on alone. I thought only of our quest, and the vow I had taken in Rivendell, offering Frodo the protection of my bow for as long as I survived.

“Frodo’s fate is no longer in our hands,” Aragorn told us softly. I looked back across the lake, unable to believe that Aragorn would leave Frodo alone to brave the wilds of Emyn Muil.

“Then it has all been in vain! The Fellowship has failed,” Gimli mourned.

Aragorn came to stand beside us, his hands going to our shoulders. “Not if we hold true to each other. We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left.”

I questioned his choice, but I would not leave him, not after I had promised Arwen to watch out for him. My hand lifted to his arm, joining us again in fellowship. On his other side, Gimli did the same.

“Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light. Let’s hunt some Orc!”

I met Gimli’s eye, still wondering about the wisdom of our decision, but catching the spirit of our new quest. “Yes!” Gimli shouted as Aragorn ran into the woods. Gimli and I followed quickly.

In the end, it was the right decision, though it had cost us Boromir’s life. If we had gone with Frodo into Emyn Muil and then into Mordor, Rohan would have fallen, and Gondor soon after. There would have been no Army of the West to draw out the forces of Mordor, leaving Frodo a clear path to Mount Doom. If we had followed my heart, all would have been lost.

Chapter 83

We had set out as soon as we could have without abandoning Boromir’s body, but the delay had cost us in our chase. The Uruk-Hai had a long start ahead of us, and they did not have to search for sign to lead them onward. They had only to run, night and day, for as long as their bodies could endure. While we were within the forest, the trees gave me some idea of the path to follow, but we soon left the forest around the lake for the stony ground we had passed on the river. Stone did not speak to me the way the forest did, and we had to rely on Aragorn’s tracking skills to guide us.

All day we ran, until night overtook us, but we went on, up the bony ridges and down into the deep valleys on the other side. Only in the cool hour before dawn did we rest for a time, moving on even before the new light of day had risen. We searched northward, the white hand giving us hope that the pack would continue toward Isengard rather than turning toward Mordor in the night and eluding us. When the trail grew hard to read, Aragorn bent close to the ground, searching for any sign of their passage. I ran on ahead, not knowing what I might find, but willing to use my greater endurance to the advantage of our search. I did not expect what I discovered, but when I saw five dead Orcs lying in a gully, I let out a cry for my companions.

“We have already overtaken some of those that we are hunting,” I told them when they joined me. “Look!” They stared at me oddly for a moment, then realized that the boulders I was pointing at were, in fact, huddled bodies, Orcs hewn with many cruel stokes, two of whom had been beheaded. The ground was wet with their dark blood. I imagined that I could hear the very earth crying out in rejection of their foul offering.

Aragorn examined the signs around the bodies. “I think our enemy has brought his own enemy with him,” Aragorn decided. “These are Northern Orcs from far away. Among the slain are none of the Uruk-Hai bearing the White Hand. There was a quarrel, I guess. Maybe there was some dispute about the road.” 

Aragorn searched in a wide circle, but no other traces of the fight were to be found. We went on, as Arien rose in the east, finally finding tracks to tell us that we were following the right trail. All that day, we tracked them, and all night again, and again the next day. We ran mostly in silence, conserving our breath for the task at hand, speaking only to discuss the trail. Boromir was much in my thoughts as we went. I could not rid myself of the sense that we had failed him somehow. I had told Aragorn what Erestor had said about the Ring, and I had reminded him, when he needed it, of the love that grounded his soul. Gimli and I had talked as well. He had not confided in me, but I had given him the benefit of my knowledge at least. I had not, however, spoken to Boromir. I had not known how to approach him, especially since I was so firmly on Aragorn’s side. The tension between them had carried over to me, and I had not made the effort to bridge the divide. I have no way of knowing if I could have made a difference by speaking to him in Lórien or even sometime along the Anduin, but the regret over my silence chased me across the hills of Amon Hen, through the Riddermark, and beyond. Every time I thought of how useful it would have been to have Boromir with us still, the regret came back, and I thought again about what might have been if I had found a way to speak to Boromir as I had spoken to Aragorn and Gimli. I wanted to speak to my companions, particularly to Aragorn, and ask them if the same regrets weighed on them, to see how they were coping with a second death and the dissolution of the Fellowship. Aragorn had said that we would not fail as long as we stayed true to each other and to Merry and Pippin, but I could not help feeling that we had abandoned Frodo and Sam. The threat to them was less immediate, perhaps, than the threat to Merry and Pippin, but their loss, if it occurred, would be infinitely greater as well. Losing Frodo and Sam to the Enemy meant losing everything. Our first vows had been to Frodo. Our secondary ones were to each other, but even I, bound by the love I bore Aragorn and my promise to Arwen, would have saved Frodo over my companions if it had come to such a choice. Only Frodo’s success could guarantee any of us a chance at life.

When we paused for a short break, I asked Aragorn about the decision to let Frodo go alone. “What made you change your mind about going with Frodo?” I asked softly.

“Frodo changed my mind,” Aragorn replied. “I found him on Amon Hen before the attack. He believed that the Ring would eventually take us all. I heard it there, for the first time since leaving Rivendell. It called my name, and I knew that Frodo was right. I would have gone with him. I would have upheld the oath I swore at the council, but he released me. He released us all. All except Sam, who, I imagine, refused to be released. I do not know if it was the right choice, but it was the one that had to be made.”

I nodded my understanding, though I was not completely convinced until success had been achieved, and then he was up, running again down the trail left by the party of our foes. I tried not to think about Merry and Pippin. We were trailing them as quickly as we could, and the speed with which the Uruks were moving suggested that they had not taken the time for any sport with their captives, but I feared for our friends. I had seen Elves rescued after a much shorter time in the hands of Orcs. They were utterly destroyed from the torment visited upon them by their captors. I did not know if the little Hobbits would even survive to be rescued.

On the morning of the third day, we lost the trail amid the bare rocks. Aragorn put his ear to the ground, hoping that the ground would tell him where to go. He lay there for so long that I began to wonder if he had fallen asleep. Then, he sprang to his feet. “Their pace has quickened. They must have caught our scent. Hurry!”

“Come on, Gimli,” I encouraged as I took off after Aragorn. Behind me, I could hear Gimli muttering. “Three days and nights pursuit. No food, no rest, and no sign our quarry, but what bare rock can tell.” Despite his words, he continued after us, keeping up as best he could with his shorter, stockier legs.

We trailed the Orcs for another several hours before Aragorn came suddenly to a stop. I ran past him before realizing that he had knelt down to pick something up.

“Not idly do the leaves of Lórien fall,” he observed, fingering one of the brooches from Galadriel.

“They may yet be alive,” I exclaimed, finally allowing myself to hope that we might succeed. If they were alert enough to have left such obvious sign of their passing, then they had not been tortured too greatly. Perhaps we would succeed in saving them.

“Less than a day ahead of us,” Aragorn judged from the signs. “Come.” And again, he ran on tirelessly. I kept pace, but I wondered how long he could maintain it, and even more, how long Gimli could.

“Come, Gimli,” I encouraged. “We are gaining on them.” 

Behind me, I heard Gimli stumble and then regain his feet. “I'm wasted on cross county. We Dwarves are natural sprinters. Very dangerous over short distances.” 

On we continued, and on, until we reached the end of the rocky hills we had been traversing. Spread out before us were the rolling hills of Rohan. I forced my mind to the task at hand, refusing to let memories of my past sojourn in Rohan haunt me.

“Rohan,” Aragorn murmured. “Home of the horse lords. There's something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures, sets its will against us.”

I ran ahead to a lookout, peering across the plains, searching for anything that might help us.

“Legolas! What do your Elf eyes see?” Aragorn called to me. As he spoke, I saw a dust cloud rising from the grass.

“The Uruks turned north-east,” I told him. “They are taking the Hobbits to Isengard!”

“Saruman,” Aragorn muttered as our conclusions were proven right.

We traveled on, that day, easily crossing twenty-four leagues or more. We stopped that night to rest, for the trail had grown difficult to follow in the dark, and Ithil had set early. However, we moved on long before first light. When Arien did rise, it brought evil portents with it.

“A red sun rises. Blood has been spilled this night,” I told my friends.

Chapter 84

The sound of hoofbeats and the whinnying of horses interrupted my musings. Aragorn heard them almost as soon as I did. They were riding towards us down the trail the Orcs had left. He looked around quickly for a place to hide. He motioned us to follow him into the lee of a group of stones. We knelt there out of sight as an éored of riders passed us by. Aragorn recognized their insignia, meeting my eyes and nodding slightly when the last of the Rohirrim had passed. He stepped out into the open. “Riders of Rohan!” he called as Gimli and I moved to stand behind him. “What news from the Mark?”

The Marshal raised his spear and the company wheeled about and thundered back toward us. Aragorn made no move to reach for his sword so I followed suit, though the spears aimed at us were threatening enough. We waited impassively while the riders came to a halt in a tight circle around us. Then, the Marshal broke through and stood before us, mounted proudly on a black stallion of fine lineage.

“What business does an Elf, a Man and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark?” the man challenged. I turned to face him but did not speak, preferring to let Aragorn speak for us. “Speak quickly!” he ordered.

“Give me your name, horse master,” Gimli answered, “and I shall give you mine.”

The Marshal handed his spear to his lieutenant and dismounted. Aragorn put a restraining hand across Gimli’s chest.

“I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground,” he threatened. That was too much. I had seen two of companions cut down with nothing I could do to stop it. I was not going to sit by and watch it happen a third time. In the time it took to blink, I had an arrow nocked on my bow and aimed between the man’s eyes. “You would die before your stroke fell.” 

The spears of the other Riders pushed in closer around us, but my focus never wavered. Until Aragorn’s hand pushed my bow aside.

“I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn,” he said, breaking the tense silence. “This is Gimli, son of Glóin, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm. We are friends of Rohan and of Théoden your king.” I locked gazes with the Marshal as Aragorn spoke. I was not ready to forgive him for threatening my friend.

“Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe. Not even his own kin,” the Marshal told us, removing his helm. That was the signal the others needed. Though the circle around us did not loosen, they raised their spears. I wracked my memory for what I knew of the royal family of Rohan. This was either Théodred or Éomer, Théoden’s only living male kin. “Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan, and for that we are banished.” That surprised me. I had always heard that Théoden was a reasonable King. I decided that this must be Éomer standing in front of me. Though I could not imagine what would have caused him to banish his nephew, I could imagine even less what would have led to him banishing his son. “The white wizard is cunning.” His eyes met Aragorn’s in subtle accusation. “He walks here and there, they say, as an old man hooded and cloaked.” Then, he looked at Gimli, eyes still hard. “And everywhere his spies slip past our nets.” He looked right at me as he spoke. I bristled again at the implication. How dare this uncouth horse master, nephew of the King or not, imply such a thing about me. Elves served no one, least of all the Enemy.

Aragorn answered his accusation before I could, which was just as well. I would not have responded diplomatically. Rarely did my temper get the better of me, but I had endured too much recently to keep it in check.

“We are no spies,” Aragorn insisted. “We track a pack of Uruk-Hai westward across the plain. They've taken two of our friends captive.”

“The Uruks are destroyed,” the Marshal told us. “We slaughtered them during the night.”

“There were two hobbits,” Gimli said. “Did you see two hobbits with them?”

“They would be small, only children to your eyes,” Aragorn added. “They wore the same Elvish cloaks that we do, a gift from the Lady of Lothlórien.”

“Then there is a Lady in the Golden Wood, as old tales tell! Few escape her nets, they say. These are strange days! But if you have her favor, then you also are net-weavers and sorcerers, maybe,” Éomer said, suspicion entering his voice again.

“You speak evil of that which is fair beyond the reach of your thought, and only little wit can excuse you,” Gimli replied. Éomer looked ready to go for his sword again at Gimli’s words. Once again, Aragorn had to play diplomat. 

“And our friends?” he asked, bringing the conversation back to the subject of most immediate concern.

“We left none alive,” he replied gravely. “We piled the carcasses and burned them.”

We looked to where Éomer indicated and could see smoke billowing across the horizon.

“Dead?” Gimli asked, shocked. I laid an arm across his shoulders in comfort.

“I am sorry,” Éomer said. Then, he whistled sharply. “Hasufel, Arod.” Two horses walked to him at the sound of their names. “May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters. Farewell.” He returned his helm to his head and mounted his own horse. “Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands,” he told us. To his riders, he shouted. “We ride north!”

Elvish translations

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Chapter 85

As the Rohirrim whirled and turned away north at Éomer’s command, Aragorn looked at me sadly. Still, we had to go on, had to see what we could find. Gimli eyed the horses suspiciously. “I would sooner walk than sit on the back of any beast so great,” he muttered.

“But you must ride now, or you will hinder us,” Aragorn replied.

“Come, you shall sit behind me, Gimli,” I encouraged. “Arod can bear us both.”

“Make haste,” Aragorn urged, already mounted on Hasufel. I swung astride Arod, and reached down for Gimli, pulling him up to ride pillion behind me. As soon as he was settled, we spurred our mounts down the Orc trail toward the dark smoke on the horizon. I tested Arod as we rode to determine his responsiveness. I had rarely needed saddle and bridle for my mounts, but I did not know this one, and I had Gimli to worry about. Arod was all I could wish for in a horse, responsive to my commands, with a fiery enough spirit not to be cowed by my strength of will. If I had not had Gimli behind me, I would have abandoned saddle and bridle to ride the way I did with Elvish trained horses.

I was silent as we rode, going over and over the exchange with Éomer in my mind. I could not quite believe what I had almost done. My temper had put our lives in danger. Put Aragorn’s life in danger. Éomer had been insulting when he spoke to Gimli, but I had gone beyond insults when I drew on him. I had been monumentally stupid, and it could very well have cost us our quest and our lives. My own life would not have been such a terrible loss, but death would have been a poor punishment indeed if I had cost Aragorn his life. Especially after I had sworn to protect him.

As we drew nearer our grim destination, Aragorn slowed, searching for any sign that might indicate escape for our friends. After all, the Rohirrim had not seen the Hobbits. They might have overlooked the small bodies in battle, but surely they would have noticed them, even in the dark, when they piled the bodies to burn. Perhaps the Hobbits had found a way to escape before the battle. He found nothing, only the tracks of the Orcs, mixed with the hoofprints of the Rohirrim’s horses. 

At last, as afternoon was waning, we came to the eaves of the great forest and the pile of burning carcasses. The Rohirrim had left one of the heads impaled on a spear, explanation and warning in one. I scanned the area, looking for any sign that the Hobbits might have survived. Aragorn did the same, while Gimli started digging through the pile with his axe. We saw nothing to give us hope. Then, Gimli turned to us, grief-stricken.

“It's one of the Elven belts,” he said, the remnant of the belt hanging from his axe. It seemed that Éomer had been right. Hope had abandoned the Riddermark.

“Hiro hyn hidh ab 'wanath,” I whispered, head bowed, arm across my chest as I faced the final resting place of my friends _._ I hoped they would find peace after death, and that their deaths had not been too cruel.

Beside me, Aragorn kicked a stray helmet, then fell to his knees with a strangled shout of grief and rage.

“We’ve failed them” Gimli said softly, tears in his eyes.

I started to Aragorn’s side, needing his comfort as much as he probably needed mine in the face of yet another death, yet another failure, when he suddenly shifted and brushed his hand over tracks on the ground. The Ranger was back in evidence again as he interpreted what his eyes were just beginning to see.

“A Hobbit lay here,” he said in a dead voice, his eyes searching now for other signs. “And the other.” He stood up, following the marks. “They crawled,” he said, reading signs so confused by battle that I could barely make them out. “Their hands were bound.” He walked a few more steps, picking up a piece of rope. “Their bonds were cut.” I could hear hope returning to his voice, though I saw it not yet. “They ran over here. They were followed.” He took several more steps, Gimli and me close behind. “The tracks lead away from the battle...” Finally, hope returned. “…into Fangorn Forest.”

“Fangorn,” Gimli mumbled in fear and awe. “What madness drove them in there?” I did not answer, but I thought perhaps I knew. In the darkness, the Rohirrim would not have known captive from captor. Anyone who was not part of their company would have been seen as an enemy. Furthermore, the Hobbits would have had no idea who was attacking the Orcs. The Rohirrim could have been just as dangerous as the Uruks, for all Merry and Pippin would have known. Fangorn must have seemed like a safe refuge in comparison with the chaos of battle.

We made our way into the forest, but night was falling and under the overhanging boughs, there would not be enough light to follow what little sign there was. We gathered dead wood from the forest floor to make a fire, for the trees thrived on the moisture in the air, moisture that chilled my companions to the bone.

“Díhena nin,” I said softly as we set up the campsite.

“Mankoi?” Aragorn asked.

“For speaking out of turn today,” I answered, still speaking Elvish. I would apologize to Aragorn, but I did not really want Gimli to know I was doing so. “I should have let you handle Éomer’s threat when he spoke to Gimli. I could have ruined everything.”

“It did not come to that,” Aragorn replied. 

“Hannon chen,” I said. “It will not happen again.”

Aragorn nodded. When everything was prepared for the night, we drew watches. Gimli had the first watch, so Aragorn and I settled down to sleep. As I let the living night and deep dream blend in my reverie, I heard Aragorn give Gimli one last warning. “Remember, it is perilous to cut bough or twig from a living tree in Fangorn. But do not stray far in search of dead wood. Let the fire die rather! Call me at need!”

We had slept for some unknown time when Gimli suddenly sprang up, the sudden movement bringing Aragorn and me awake as well. An old man, hooded and cloaked, stood just on the edge of the firelight.

“Well, father, what can we do for you?” Aragorn asked. “Come and be warm, if you are cold.” He strode forward, but the old man was gone.

Then, the sound of neighing broke the silence. “The horses!” I cried, but when we went to where we had left them picketed, they were gone. 

“Scared away, no doubt,” Gimli said.

We kept watch the rest of the night, but neither the old man nor the horses returned.

When morning came, we made what breakfast we could and prepared to continue our search. As we gathered out gear, Gimli worried again about the old man we had seen in the night, for he had left no tracks that any of us could find, and about the horses he had frightened away.

“You said last night, Gimli, that they were frightened away. But I do not think so,” Aragorn said. “Did you hear them, Legolas? Did they sound to you like beasts in terror?”

“No,” I answered thoughtfully. “I heard them clearly. But for the darkness and our own fear I should have guessed that they were beasts wild with some sudden gladness. They spoke as horses will when they meet a friend that they have missed.”

Aragorn agreed and we continued into the forest, following what little tracks Hobbit feet left on the loamy forest floor. A short distance into the woods, Gimli found the first sign. “Orc blood,” he said, spitting out the foul stuff that he had tasted for identification.

We continued on, trying to make sense of the marks before our eyes. “These are strange tracks,” Aragorn said.

“The air is so close in here,” Gimli said before we could interpret the tracks.

“This forest is old,” I told him. “Very old.” I paused, listening to the voices of the trees. “Full of memory,” I said as I understood their words. “And anger,” I added. “I almost feel young again, as I have not since I journeyed with you children. I could have been happy here, if I had come in days of peace.”

“I dare say you could,” Gimli snorted. “You are a Wood-Elf. Yet you comfort me. Where you go, I will go.”

A groaning sound echoed through the trees, so loud that even my mortal companions could hear it. I smiled as Gimli raised his axe to meet the new threat.

“The trees are speaking to each other,” I explained.

“Gimli! Lower your axe,” Aragorn ordered as the murmuring of the trees grew more purposeful. He did so without arguing and the trees subsided around us. Mostly. There was still one faint tremor running through them. We were not the only ones who walked beneath their boughs.

“They have feelings, my friend. The Elves began it, waking up the trees, teaching them to talk,” I told Gimli. Aragorn knew, or should have known, the story of Fangorn.

“Talking trees?” Gimli muttered. “What do trees have to talk about, except the consistency of squirrel droppings?” I did not answer him because the murmuring of the trees had grown purposeful again.

“Aragorn, nad no ennas!” I said, warning him as the trees warned me.

“Man cenich?” he asked. Even in the woods, Elf eyes saw more than mortal ones.

“The White Wizard approaches,” I replied.

“Do not let him speak. He will put a spell on us,” Aragorn warned. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword. I fitted an arrow to the string of my bow, ready to pull and fire as soon as a target presented itself. Gimli pulled a small axe, designed for throwing. We were as ready as we could be.

“We must be quick,” Aragorn said. He spun around with a cry, ready to do battle. Gimli threw his axe, but the wizard deflected it. I let fly an arrow, only to see it deflected as well. Aragorn’s sword was in his hand, but it glowed red, as if heated by a blacksmith’s fire. He dropped it with another cry. Light surrounded the wizard before us, hiding his features.

“You are tracking the footsteps of two young Hobbits,” a voice said, booming out of the light.

“Where are they?” Aragorn demanded.

“They passed this way the day before yesterday,” the wizard replied. “They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?”

“Who are you?” Aragorn asked. “Show yourself.”

The light changed, diffusing to reveal a face familiar and yet different. It was impossible, and yet there he was.

“It cannot be,” Aragorn exclaimed as awareness dawned on him as well. I knelt before him and Gimli bowed.

“Forgive me,” I begged. “I mistook you for Saruman.” My wonder must have been clear in my voice as I spoke. I did not even begin to understand how it was possible, but Gandalf had been restored to us.

“I am Saruman,” he replied. “Or rather Saruman as he should have been.”

“You fell,” Aragorn said. His words were a question, asking Gandalf to explain his amazing reappearance.

“Through fire and water from the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth,” Gandalf answered. “Until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountain side. Darkness took me. And I strayed out of thought and time. The stars wheeled overhead and every day was as long as a life age of the earth. But it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I've been sent back, until my task is done.”

I listened to Gandalf’s story in amazement. In all the history of Middle Earth, only two had ever slain a Balrog, Glorfindel and Ecthelion, and they had both died in the process, though Glorfindel was eventually reborn. Gandalf, too, had succeeded, and the Valar had seen fit to return him to us, to allow his wisdom to guide us once more. 

“Gandalf?” Aragorn asked, reverence in his voice.

“Gandalf? Yes. That was what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey. That was my name.,” Gandalf answered vaguely.

Gimli whispered Gandalf’s name with the same wonder that had infused Aragorn’s and my voices when we spoke.

“I am Gandalf the White. And I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide,” Gandalf told us.


	18. Chapters 86-90

Chapter 86

There was no time, then, to explore the reality of having Gandalf restored to us. Gandalf was in too much of a hurry. Aragorn, Gimli, and I fell in step behind him as he led us back toward the borders of the forest.

“One stage of your journey is over, another begins. War has come to Rohan. We must travel to Edoras with all speed,” Gandalf said as we trailed along behind him

“Edoras?” Gimli asked. “That is no short distance!” I agreed, especially since we were once again on foot.

“We hear of trouble in Rohan. It goes ill with the king,” Aragorn told Gandalf.

“Yes,” Gandalf replied, “and it will not be easily cured.” I wondered what he knew that we did not, but, then again, I was beginning to understand that there was far more to Gandalf than I had known.

“Then we have run all this way for nothing?” Gimli groused. “Are we to leave those poor Hobbits here in this horrid, dark, dank, tree-infested…” As he spoke, the trees made their displeasure with his words known. “I mean charming, quite charming forest.” I smiled at Gimli’s reactions, both of them. He was a Dwarf. Forests would never be his favorite place, though he learned to tolerate them for me.

“It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn. A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains,” Gandalf replied sagely.

Aragorn chuckled at his words. “In one thing you have not changed, dear friend.”

“Hm?” Gandalf inquired.

“You still speak in riddles.” We all laughed at that, for Gandalf’s way of speaking in circles was well known throughout Middle Earth.

More seriously, Gandalf added, “A thing is about to happen here that has not happened since the Elder Days. The Ents are going to wake up and find that they are strong.” That said, Gandalf turned again and continued toward the forest edge.

I waited, knowing Gimli would have something to say about that as well.

“Strong? Oh, that’s good,” he said, just as I expected. I met Aragorn’s eye and we followed after Gandalf. In that moment, anything seemed possible. Even destroying the Ring. Gandalf had fallen and was restored to us. If that could happen, two little Hobbits could destroy the One Ring.

“So stop your fretting, Master Dwarf,” Gandalf continued, unaware of the silent exchange between Aragorn and me. “Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact, they are far safer than you are about to be.”

“This new Gandalf’s more grumpy than the old one,” Gimli muttered to himself as we reached the edge of Fangorn.

To our surprise, Hasufel and Arod had returned when we left the shadow of the forest. Aragorn and I reached for their reins as Gandalf let out a long, echoing whistle. Out over the plains, a horse appeared. As it approached us, I recognized its majesty. “That is one of the Mearas,” I exclaimed, “unless my eyes are cheated by some spell.” As if having Gandalf restored to us was not wonder enough, we were now faced with another wonder, a Mearas.

“Shadowfax,” Gandalf said. “He is the lord of all horses...” As Gandalf spoke, Shadowfax stopped in front of him and nodded. “...and has been my friend through many dangers.” He smiled as he talked to the horse, stroking its silky nose affectionately. Shadowfax wore no saddle or bridle. He had never tolerated them and never would. If he chose to let a rider on his back, he made sure the rider did not fall. And if he chose not to carry someone, that rider would never even succeed in mounting. Gandalf was fortunate, indeed, to have such a mount willing to come at his call. Shadowfax’s presence also explained the reactions of our horses the previous day and their return that morning.

At Gandalf’s behest, we mounted quickly and galloped south towards Edoras. We rode all day and almost until nightfall. We made camp again with the ease of much practice, starting a fire and eating lembas, for we had not taken the time to hunt. As we relaxed a little before sleeping, I asked Gandalf about what had occurred since his return. He took up the tale where he had left off, on the mountaintop. “Gwaihir the Windlord found me again, and he took me up and bore me away,” Gandalf recounted. “I asked him to bear me to Lothlórien, which he did, for it was also the command of Galadriel who had sent him to look for me. Thus it was that I came to Caras Galadhon and found you but lately gone. I tarried there in the ageless time of that land where days bring healing not decay. Healing I found, and I was clothed in white. Counsel I gave, and counsel I took. Thence by strange roads I came to Fangorn.”

When he had finished his tale, we settled to sleep. Gandalf took the first watch, assuring us that he needed little rest and that we should take what rest we could find since the days ahead would press us hard. I reclined in my bedroll, but I could not find the peace of reverie, so I watched the stars instead, letting my mind wander freely among them.

After some time, Aragorn rose and went to Gandalf’s side. I did not move, but I focused my hearing, wanting to hear what they said to one another.

“The veiling shadow that glowers in the east takes shape. Sauron will suffer no rival,” Gandalf said softly. “From the summit of Barad-dûr, his Eye watches ceaselessly. But he is not so mighty yet that he is above fear. Doubt ever gnaws at him. The rumor has reached him: the heir of Númenor still lives. Sauron fears you, Aragorn. He fears what you may become. And so he will strike hard and fast at the world of men.” 

I took in Gandalf’s words carefully. I could not decide how I felt about Sauron knowing about Aragorn. Certainly, anything that caused Sauron fear was good, but if that meant he targeted Aragorn, that was not so good. 

“He will use his puppet Saruman to destroy Rohan. War is coming. Rohan must defend itself and therein lies our first challenge, for Rohan is weak and ready to fall. The King's mind is enslaved. It's an old device of Saruman's. His hold over King Théoden is now very strong. Sauron and Saruman are tightening the noose,” Gandalf continued. Gandalf’s plan was far from clear, but I began to understand. Somehow, we were to free Théoden and protect Rohan. Three warriors and a wizard. That seemed like a pretty daunting challenge.

“But for all their cunning, we have one advantage. The Ring remains hidden, and that we should seek to destroy it has not yet entered their darkest dreams. And so the weapon of the enemy is moving towards Mordor in the hands of a Hobbit. Each day brings it closer to the fires of Mount Doom. We must trust now in Frodo. Everything depends upon speed and the secrecy of his quest. Do not regret your decision to leave him. Frodo must finish this task alone,” Gandalf added. His words reassured me. I had worried about our decision, as I knew Aragorn had, though he did not speak of it.

“He is not alone,” Aragorn said. “Sam went with him.”

“Did he?” Gandalf asked. “Did he indeed? Good. Yes, very good.” I remembered Galadriel’s words, then. Hope remains while the company is true. She had looked at Sam as she spoke, Sam who, alone of us all, had held her gaze. Perhaps hope was not lost and the friendship between the two Hobbits would be enough to make this quest succeed.

Chapter 87

Gandalf roused us in the dark hours before dawn, and we rode out under Ithil’s cold light. Arien rose in the east, red shafts of light leaping above the black walls of Emyn Muil far away to our left. And before us stood the mountains of the south, white-tipped and streaked with black, one lonely height protruding out onto the plains. A white stream came down from the snow-capped peaks, and where it issued from the shadow of the vale, a green hill rose, encircled by a dike, a mighty wall, and a thorny fence. Within the surround, I saw the roofs of houses and in their midst, a great hall, seemingly thatched in gold.

“Edoras,” Gandalf said, following my gaze, “and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong.”

We rode on through the morning until we came to the stream I had seen at dawn. We paused there before crossing the ford. “Be careful what you say,” Gandalf warned before we crossed. “Do not look for welcome here.”

We made our way across the stream and toward the city. As we reached the gates of the city, a flag, the White Horse upon Green, symbol of the Rohirrim and the throne of Rohan, fluttered to the ground, torn by the wind from its pole on the heights above us. It reflected the sad state of affairs in Rohan, I thought, that the flag would be in such a threadbare condition to tear as it had. I heard Aragorn draw rein behind me as the flag landed almost at his feet. I half-expected him to reach down and pick it up, but he did not. Perhaps he feared the reaction of this proud people to an outsider pointing out their weakness.

We rode slowly into the city, surrounded as we went up to the hall, by forlorn, sullen villagers dressed almost entirely in black. These were not the cheerful, hard-working people that I remembered from my stay in Rohan. A glance at Aragorn’s face told me that he was thinking the same thing. The pluck and determination the farmers in the little hamlet had shown was missing there in Edoras, and I began to fear for the outcome of our quest. Having met Freyla and her folk all those years before, and Éomer and his company a few days prior, I had been hopeful, despite Gandalf’s words about the weakness of Rohan. As we rode through Edoras, I wondered if all the remaining strength in the country was riding north with Éomer.

“You'll find more cheer in a graveyard,” Gimli muttered as we passed through the city.

None of us knew, at the time, that everyone in Edoras was mourning the death of Théodred and the illness of the King. We saw only the resignation, the complete lack of hope in their eyes.

We reached Meduseld and dismounted, leaving our horses in the hands of the capable horsemen, before climbing the stairs to the hall. Gandalf very carefully arranged his Lórien cloak to hide his changed garments. To all who did not know, he appeared much as he had before, when he had been Gandalf the Grey.

“Ah!” Gandalf smiled as a seneschal and guards came out to greet us. The seneschal grimaced a little, but then said, “I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame. By order of... Gríma Wormtongue.” The hesitation was telling. He obeyed because it was his duty, but this man, at least, did not approve of the changes in his city and his King. I was loath to give up my weapons, but Gandalf nodded, indicating that we should do as we were asked. I reluctantly drew my knives, handing them hilt first to a guard, followed by my bow, then the quiver of arrows. Beside me, Gimli and Aragorn were removing their own arms, sword, knife, axe, and bow. Gandalf even surrendered his sword, keeping only his staff in hand.

“Your staff,” the seneschal prompted.

Gandalf looked surprised. “Oh! You would not part an old man from his walking stick?” I suppressed a snort. Gandalf was many things. An old man was not one of them. Still, when the seneschal accepted the excuse, I offered Gandalf my arm for support to add validity to his pretense.

We entered the hall slowly. My eyes took in every detail as I scanned the Golden Hall of Meduseld for the first time. Had I known nothing of the Rohirrim, one glance would still have shown that I was in the home of the horselords. It was warm and dark after the clear, fresh air upon the terrace, as if the great doors had been little open to the sun and the breeze of late. The hall was long and wide, and filled with shadows and half lights. Mighty pillars supported the lofty roof. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I could see the richness of the decoration hidden in the shadows. The floor was paved with stones of many hues, and the pillars were richly carved and gleamed dully with gold and colors hidden by the shadows. Tapestries hung from the walls, the story of the people of this land, obscured by the smoke rising from the fire in the middle of the hall. I glanced up at the roof. It had been designed to open, under the eaves, to allow light in and smoke to escape, but the blinds were pulled, as if someone feared the freshness and light of the world outside the doors. At the far end of the hall was a dais with three steps, and in the middle was a great gilded chair, the throne of the King, yet the man who sat upon it appeared nothing like any King I had ever seen. His skin was pasty white, a pallor of illness, of one who has not seen the sun in many long days, and his eyes seemed blurred, as if he could only barely see what was beyond his reach. His hair and clothes were unkempt, reflecting none of the wealth that surrounded him. At his side, a wizened, oily figure of a man dressed all in black, but richly, leaned toward him and whispered, “My lord, Gandalf the Grey is coming. He's a herald of woe.”

Gríma Wormtongue. It could be no other.

“The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King,” Gandalf challenged as we walked the length of the hall. Gandalf had warned us to be on guard, and I was poised for battle as I tracked the movement of others of Gríma’s ilk mostly hidden in the shadows. I recognized Gríma’s type. He would not get his hands dirty. He had others to do his disreputable work.

“He is not welcome,” Gríma said into Théoden’s ear.

Like a puppet on a string, Théoden replied, “Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?”

“A just question, my liege,” Gríma said obsequiously. “Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear,” Gríma accused, rising from his chair and coming to meet us. “Láthspell I name you. Ill-news is an ill guest.” His voice grated on my nerves as every instinct I possessed screamed that this man was a threat. If not to me, then to those I loved.

“Be silent!” Gandalf ordered, raising his staff and abandoning his deception of age. “Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm.”

“His staff!” Gríma cried. “I told you to take the wizard's staff!”

As he spoke, his cronies moved from the shadows to intercept us. If I had had my bow, or Aragorn his sword and Gimli his axe, they would not have seen another dawn. As it was, we contented ourselves with fists and elbows, easily countering their lame attempts to hinder us. I saw the seneschal stop another soldier from drawing his sword. My assessment of the man had been accurate, it appeared. He was loyal only to his King, not to his King’s advisor.

Gandalf’s voice boomed out over the noise of our scuffle. “Théoden! Son of Thengel,” Gandalf said, his voice revealing a portion of his new power. “Too long have you sat in the shadows.”

Realizing what was about to happen, Gríma tried to flee, but Gimli stopped him, a booted foot on Gríma’s chest. “I would stay still if I were you,” Gimli warned menacingly. I was not sure exactly what Gimli would have done without his axe to back up his threat, but Gríma did not seem to want to find out. 

Gandalf approached Théoden slowly, but with great confidence. He raised a hand and closed his eyes in concentration. “Hearken to me,” he told the King. “I release you from this spell.”

Wicked laughter greeted his words. “You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey!” Théoden said, in a voice I later realized was not his own. Gandalf threw off his grey Elvish cloak and was revealed in all his newfound majesty. I knew him to be powerful, for he had fought the Balrog and won, but I only understood in that moment just how much more powerful this new incarnation was.

“I will draw you, Saruman,” he promised, “as poison is drawn from a wound.”

It was at that moment that I caught my first glimpse of the Shieldmaiden of Rohan. She burst into the hall from a side corridor and tried to run to the King, to intervene on her uncle’s behalf. She could not have known then that Gandalf meant Théoden no harm. Aragorn caught her around the waist and pulled her against him, stopping her flight. “Wait!” he cautioned her.

“If I go, Théoden dies,” the voice from Théoden’s mouth said. Saruman spoke through the mouth of the King.

“You did not kill me,” Gandalf retorted. “You will not kill him.” I certainly hoped Gandalf was right, because without our weapons, we would be in a difficult situation if he was wrong.

“Rohan is mine!” Saruman replied through Théoden.

“Be gone!” Gandalf shouted and for a moment, he struggled with Saruman through the body of the King. Then, Théoden slumped forward, freed from Saruman’s spell. The young woman broke Aragorn’s hold on her and rushed to Théoden’s side. She supported his frail form as an amazing transformation began. Slowly, Théoden lost the appearance of great age that hung around him. His eyes cleared; his skin took on a healthier color; he straightened up, regaining the posture of a man his age, not that of one sunken with age and illness.

Recognition dawned in his eyes as he stared into the lovely face of his niece. “I know your face,” he whispered. “Éowyn. Éowyn.” And I had a name to assign to the young woman. “Gandalf?” Théoden asked, as if surprised to see him there.

“Breathe the free air again, my friend,” Gandalf answered with a smile. Éowyn helped her uncle to stand.

“Dark have been my dreams of late,” Théoden admitted, clearly in need of guidance.

“Your fingers would remember their old strength better, if they grasped your sword,” Gandalf counseled.

The seneschal brought him his sword. Théoden fingered the hilt carefully, as if relearning its feel in his hand. Then, he pulled it from its scabbard and held it aloft in front of him. Immediately, he stood taller, confusion leaving its face. He looked around the hall, his eyes landing on Gríma who shuddered in Gimli’s grasp. At a word from the King, the seneschal and the other soldier who stood beside him grabbed Gríma and dragged him from the hall, tossing him unceremoniously down the steps.

Gríma’s moans were music to my ears as he lay writhing at the bottom of the steps. I am not usually vindictive, but the harm that Gríma had wrought in Rohan was beyond forgiving. Théoden followed Gríma down the stairs, his drawn sword still in his hand.

“I've only ever served you, my lord,” Gríma groveled, trying to slink backwards away from the wrath of the King.

“Your leech craft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!” Théoden shouted, clearly enraged.

“Send me not from your side,” Gríma pleaded, unsuccessfully.

Théoden raised his sword, in preparation for a killing blow. I waited, keen to see justice served, but Aragorn stayed his hand. “No, my lord!” he cried. When Théoden appeared not to hear him, he repeated, “No, my lord. Let him go. Enough blood has been spilled on his account.”

Aragorn’s words swayed him, and Théoden lowered his sword. Aragorn offered a hand to Gríma, who spit on it and scrambled to his feet, running toward the gates. Aragorn grimaced and wiped his hand clean as Gríma left Edoras for good.

“Hail! Théoden King!” someone in the crowd shouted. The people of Edoras knelt, then, acknowledging the presence of their liege. Aragorn, too, knelt at Théoden’s feet. I did not understand it then, and perhaps I never did, but I think Aragorn wanted Théoden to know that his sword and his experience were the King’s to command.

Théoden turned, looking around him as if searching for someone. “Where is Théodred?” he asked. “Where is my son?”

Silence was the only reply for a very long time. 

Elvish translations

Mellonen – my friend

Chapter 88

“Háma?” Théoden prompted, looking at the seneschal, when no one answered him. “Gamling?” he asked again, looking at the other soldier.

“Your son is dead, my lord,” Éowyn told him finally. “I tried to tell you earlier, but you did not hear me.”

Théoden’s eyes closed, and he aged again before our eyes as grief took him. “Take me to him,” Théoden said to Éowyn. We followed the King back inside the Hall, but let him go alone to see his son. The rest of our business would have to wait until after Théoden buried his son.

While we waited for the preparations to be made, we bathed and cleaned our travel-stained clothes as best we could. I noticed as we dressed again that the injury Aragorn had taken at Amon Hen had not healed completely. 

“Let me tend your arm, mellonen,” I said.

“Leave it, Legolas. It is nothing,” Aragorn protested. I ignored him and pulled out a salve that I always carried with me. I spread a little across his upper arm. His shirt was damaged beyond repair. A servant brought one to replace it, but they had nothing for Gimli or myself. We had to make do with brushing off the dust and mud as best we could. The court would put on its best finery for the funeral. As guests of the court and representatives of our people, we would have to attend, but we had no finery, not even clean tunics. We had left everything but our weapons and the lembas at Amon Hen when we set out in pursuit of the Uruk-Hai. We had not come as visiting dignitaries, train in tow, with formal robes of state. We had come as warriors, seekers on a quest.

Éowyn joined us soon after we returned to the Hall, wearing a formal gown of heavy blue velvet, dark against her pale skin. Her long hair was bound at her neck, a heavy coil against her nape. A golden circlet sat on her brow, marking her clearly as the King’s niece. She asked, then, about the horses we had been riding when we arrived. “If I did not know better, I would swear they were horses from my brother’s company,” she said.

“They are indeed,” Aragorn replied. “We met Éomer on our way across the Riddermark. He offered us two horses whose masters had not survived a battle. Since time was of the essence, we did not refuse his kind offer.” 

“You have seen him, then,” she said. “He was safe?”

“When we saw him three days ago, he was well. He was riding north with his men, seeking Orcs or other invaders.” Éowyn seemed reassured by our news. We did not see Théoden, Háma, or Gamling again until all was prepared for the funeral. They stayed closeted in the King’s chambers, updating him on all that had happened since Gríma had overset his mind. When they reappeared, Théoden once more resembled a King, but his gaze was troubled. He had obviously learned much that displeased him.

Then the honor guard appeared bearing Théodred’s body on a bier of shields and spears. They led the funeral procession, followed by Théoden and Éowyn. Gandalf, Aragorn, Gimli and I fell in behind them, followed by the rest of the court. We left the Hall and wound our way down the hill, past the gathered villagers to the mounds that framed either side of the road into Edoras. One side was the mounds of the line of Eorl the Young, the other side was the mounds of the line of Fréaláf Hildeson. They were all covered with simbelmynë, white evermind, the flower that marked all the graves of Rohan.

As the procession reached the tomb, Éowyn began to sing, the words foreign to my ears. Aragorn later told me what her words meant.

“Bealocwealm hafa fréone frecan forth onsended giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende,” she sang. “On Meduselde æt he ma no wære æt he ma nowere is, urh niedig rest. And mægen deorost Bealo.” The lament she sang told of the evil death that had sent forth the noble warrior, of how the sorrowing minstrels would sing a song to him, in Meduseld, where he dwelt no more. She struggled against tears as she chanted, her eyes the only ones that held back tears as the body of her cousin was passed, hand over hand, into the tomb. 

When the stone was lowered, shutting the dead inside, the rest of us returned to the Hall, leaving Théoden and Gandalf at the tomb. Éowyn immediately ordered preparations for a meal. It quickly became clear, to me at least, that Éowyn had ensured the smooth running of Meduseld for some time. No one questioned her authority to give such orders.

The meal had just been served when Gandalf and Théoden returned, two young children behind them. Éowyn took them under her wing, wrapping them in blankets, providing them with warm soup, and gently inquiring about their arrival in Edoras. Théoden returned to his seat on the throne, and Gandalf joined him, in the seat that had previously been Gríma’s. Aragorn and Gimli ate as they listened to what the children had to say. I declined, having had some lembas that morning. It would sustain me for many more hours. Instead, I leaned against one of the columns, waiting to see what this council would decide.

When they had told her all they could, she rose from their side and faced her uncle. “They had no warning,” she said. “They were unarmed. Now the wild men are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go—rick, cot and tree.” Bitterness was clear in her voice.

“Where is Mama?” the little girl asked, searching the room. Éowyn hushed her, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

“This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash,” Gandalf cautioned. “All the more potent for he is driven mad by fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children. You must fight!”

The King did not answer immediately, perhaps considering the logistics of such a fight. From what I had seen, Edoras did not have very many soldiers on hand.

Aragorn had obviously noticed the same thing because he said, “You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak. Éomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their King.”

Aragorn’s news did not seem to reassure Théoden. “They will be three hundred leagues from here by now. Éomer cannot help us,” he said, turning to Gandalf. “I know what it is you want of me. But I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war.”

“Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not,” Aragorn warned.

Théoden turned to glare at Aragorn. “When last I looked,” he said, advancing down the Hall towards us, “Théoden, not Aragorn, was King of Rohan.” I lowered my arms to my sides, tensing for whatever came next, though I did not move from my place by the pillar. Théoden might have been King of Rohan, but he was not going to threaten Aragorn in my presence unhindered. The more I had listened, the less impressed I had become with Théoden. Gríma’s influence on his body was gone, but it seemed that his presence still lingered in the King’s mind. How else could he consider not opposing Saruman? Every muscle in my body went on alert as he took another step toward Aragorn. One more, I thought. Take one more step, and King of Rohan, or not, I will stop you. Fortunately for us all, Gandalf drew his attention back to the dais. 

“Then what is the king's decision?” Gandalf asked, breaking the growing tension between Aragorn and Théoden.

Elvish translations

Man cenich? – what did you see?

Man le trasta? – what troubles you?

Chapter 89

Upon hearing the King’s decision to move the city to Helm’s Deep, Gandalf stormed out of Meduseld. Aragorn, Gimli and I followed on his heels as Háma passed on the King’s decree.

“By order of the King, the city must empty. We make for the refuge of Helm's Deep,” Háma proclaimed. “Do not burden yourself with treasures; take only what provisions you need.”

Gandalf headed toward the stables, with Aragorn beside him. Gimli walked beside me, on their heels.

“Helm's Deep!” Gimli exclaimed. “They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight. Who will defend them if not their king?”

“He is only doing what he thinks is best for his people,” Aragorn answered. “Helm's Deep has saved them in the past.”

As we entered the stables, Gandalf countered, “There is no way out of that ravine. Théoden is walking into a trap. He thinks he is leading them to safety. What they will get is a massacre. Théoden has a strong will, but I fear for him.” I wondered just how strong Théoden’s will really was. I had seen nothing yet to prove to me the strength of his will. “I fear for the survival of Rohan,” Gandalf said. “He will need you before the end, Aragorn. The people of Rohan will need you. The defenses have to hold.”

“They will hold,” Aragorn swore. I heard the determination in his voice. I did not know yet what it would take to keep that promise, but I silently vowed to do whatever it took to help him keep that vow.

Gandalf reached up and stroked Shadowfax. “The Grey Pilgrim,” he murmured. “That is what they used to call me. Three hundred lives of men I have walked this earth, and now I have no time. With luck, my search will not be in vain.”

Gandalf mounted Shadowfax. “Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the east,” he said by way of farewell.

“Go,” Aragorn told him. Gandalf spurred Shadowfax and galloped out of the stable. Gimli and I pressed back against the stall doors to let him pass. The fifth day. We had to keep the people of Rohan alive for five days. If we could do that, Gandalf would return to help. 

As we gathered our gear and made our arrangements to ride out, I heard the sound of a horse trying to escape its ties. Aragorn approached, reaching for the rope.

“That horse is half mad, my lord,” a stable hand told Aragorn. “There's nothing you can do. Leave him.”

Aragorn ignored his advice, taking one of the ropes and talking to the horse softly in Rohirric. “Fæste, stille nú, fæste, stille nú. Lac is drefed, gefrægon,” he murmured, calming the horse. I had no idea what he was saying to the horse, but it worked. He stopped rearing. Aragorn untied one of the ropes, easing his hold as the horse calmed. Éowyn entered the stable as he spoke to the horse, watching him carefully as he worked with the animal.

“Hwæt nemna e?” he asked.

“His name is Brego,” Éowyn answered him in Westron. “He was my cousin's horse.”

“Brego? In nama is cynglic,” Aragorn said, turning back to the horse. “Man le trasta, Brego?” he asked, switching to Elvish. “Man cenich?” The horse could not tell Aragorn what he had seen, what was bothering him, but the sound of Aragorn’s voice was enough to ease the animal’s fear.

“I've heard of the magic of Elves,” Éowyn commented, coming to stand beside Aragorn on the opposite side of Brego, “but I did not look for it in a Ranger from the North. You speak as one of their own.”

“I was raised in Rivendell for a time,” Aragorn told her, answering her unspoken question. “Turn this fellow free. He has seen enough of war.” Aragorn handed her the remaining rope attached to Brego’s halter and left the stables. As Éowyn released that rope and led Brego out of the stable, I watched her face. She was intrigued by Aragorn, that much was clear. What that meant was not so certain. She was a lady, a leader, a beauty. And she was interested in Aragorn. My nerves prickled with unease. She would bear watching.

When she left the stable, I trailed behind her, not so close as to be obvious, but near enough to keep her in sight. She returned to Meduseld, organizing the packing there. I stood quietly in the shadows as she opened a trunk and withdrew a sword. She unsheathed it and began what was obviously a practiced series of motions. I was reminded vividly of watching Arwen with her own sword. Éowyn did not resemble Arwen physically, but much of their characters were similar. I could not decide if that was encouraging or discouraging.

Aragorn appeared behind her, suddenly, as she turned. He blocked her swing with his Elvish knife.

“You've some skill with a blade,” he complimented her. She looked startled at first, then she swung the sword, bringing it up to point at his face. Aragorn met her eyes, his knife still in hand, but to the side. Then, he lowered the knife, both hands at his side. She returned her sword to its sheath and put it back in the trunk.

“The women of this country learned long ago that those without swords can still die upon them. I fear neither death nor pain,” she said defensively.

“What do you fear, my lady?” Aragorn asked.

“A cage,” Éowyn replied. “To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them. And all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire.” I heard the frustration in her voice, heard the echoes of a similar conversation with Arwen, and hoped that the things that had drawn Aragorn to Arwen would not also draw him to Éowyn. 

“You are a daughter of kings,” Aragorn answered, “a Shieldmaiden of Rohan. I do not think that will be your fate.” He gave her a courtly bow and turned, leaving her staring after him once again. Interest was quickly turning to fascination if her expression was any guide. Aragorn was harder to read. He gave Éowyn the courtesy she deserved as a lady of the land, but she obviously hoped that his courtesy meant more. I would have to watch and see what developed. Somehow, this was not what I had anticipated when Arwen asked me to watch Aragorn’s back. I knew how to protect him in battle. I had no idea how to protect him from Éowyn. Nor, I realized as I watched his retreating back, did I know if he wanted me to.

We finished our preparations that night, but Arien had already reached the horizon. We spent that night in Edoras and left the next morning. Éowyn arranged a room for us, offering her cousin’s room for us to share. I wanted to talk to Aragorn, to ask him about Éowyn. I wanted to remind him that he had made a promise to Arwen, that she was waiting for him in Rivendell, but I did not want to share his personal business with Gimli. Dwarves could keep secrets, but this was not my secret I was considering sharing. I would find time to speak with Aragorn later. Gimli knew about Arwen, of course, but not about Aragorn’s doubts. 

Chapter 90

We filed out of Edoras the next morning, a caravan of wagons and carts carrying people and supplies. We wound our way slowly across the plains, north toward Helm’s Deep.

I scouted ahead on foot, my greater speed and endurance allowing me to easily outpace the townspeople. I was just on my way back when I heard Gimli, perched precariously on Arod, talking to Éowyn.

“It's true, you don't see many Dwarf women,” he told her. “In fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance, that they're often mistaken for Dwarf men.” I was surprised to hear him speaking so openly of Dwarvish ways to someone he had only just met, but she could be charming. I had realized that the day before. She smiled and turned back to look at Aragorn who rode next to the King.

“It's the beards,” Aragorn whispered, pretending to stroke a long beard to illustrate what he had said. Éowyn smiled broadly.

“And this in turn has given rise to the belief that there are no Dwarf women,” Gimli continued. “And that Dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground.” That comment caused Éowyn to laugh, a contagious sound that brought laughter from Gimli and a large smile from Aragorn. “Which is of course ridiculous.”

Arod chose that moment to bolt, knocking Gimli off balance and off his back. Éowyn ran forward to help him, still laughing. “It's all right,” Gimli called. “It's all right. Nobody panic. It was deliberate,” he bluffed. “It was deliberate.”

Éowyn reached his side and helped him up, brushing dirt from his cloak and tunic. Her continued laughter drifted through the air, her eyes fixed on Aragorn as she helped Gimli. She was flirting with him. I watched Aragorn watching her. He was not quite flirting back, but he was not discouraging her either. I wondered what that meant. I could see the Evenstar hanging around his neck, mostly hidden by the collar of his tunic. He still wore the symbol of Arwen’s love, yet he seemed to be considering Éowyn’s interest. I again considered speaking with him, asking him what he intended, but I decided against it for the moment. Aragorn had not yet crossed any line, done anything that could be considered unequivocal encouragement, and even if he did, I was not sure that gave me the right to interfere. 

At the same time, I was jealous of Éowyn’s freedom to openly try to gain his attention. I had had that freedom once, and though I had lost it through my own stupidity and pride, I still regretted it. I believed, even if Aragorn did not, that Arwen would wait for him, would fully expect to spend the rest of their lives together if we survived and Frodo succeeded. I was, once again, bound by a promise that kept me from pursuing what I most desired. Nothing kept Éowyn from trying to gain his affection. And I was not sure I had the right to keep him from returning it, if he so decided.

Théoden’s voice broke my concentration. “I have not seen my niece smile in a long time,” he told Aragorn. “She was a girl when they brought her father back dead. Cut down by Orcs. She watched her mother succumb to grief. And she was left alone to tend her King in growing fear. Doomed to wait upon an old man who should have loved her as a father.” 

Éowyn smiled at Aragorn as Théoden spoke. He returned the smile with an enigmatic one of his own. It was a smile that promised nothing, and yet promised everything. I remembered that smile. I had seen it the night I came to our shared bedroll and found skin instead of cotton. I had seen it as well the day I found him in the library in Rivendell, just before the council. I did not know which promise he was making to Éowyn. Nothing, or everything.

We traveled as far as we could that day, though not nearly as far as Aragorn, Gimli, and I could have traveled, even on foot. We made camp early so that dinner could be prepared for everyone.

I settled my bedroll a small distance from the others, wanting peace and quiet for the night. Aragorn set his own pack down nearby, but not so close that I felt obliged to engage him in conversation.

I looked up when I heard Éowyn’s voice calling Gimli’s name, offering him something to eat. He refused. It must have been truly unappetizing for Gimli to prefer lembas to whatever Éowyn was offering.

Then, she approached Aragorn.

“I made some stew,” she said. “It isn't much, but it's hot.” She handed him a bowl and a spoon before he could answer.

“Thank you,” he said, tasting the stew. “It's good,” I heard him say, though he did not sound as if he meant it.

“Really?” she asked, obviously thrilled at the compliment. He mumbled something in reply. As soon as her back was turned, he started to pour it out, but she turned back quickly. He recovered, but not before splashing some of it on his hand. I would have to treat that burn before I let him sleep.

“My uncle told me a strange thing,” she said. “He said that you rode to war with Thengel, my grandfather. But he must be mistaken.”

“King Théoden has a good memory,” Aragorn replied. “He was only a small child at the time.” I could see the effect that had on Éowyn. Her fascination was growing apace. The more she learned about Aragorn, the more she wanted to know. I could understand the feeling – I had felt the same way when I knew him at nineteen. If anything, he was even more interesting than he had been then. 

“Then you must be at least 60,” she guessed. Aragorn shook his head. “Seventy?” He lowered his eyes, slightly embarrassed. “You cannot be 80!”

“Eighty-seven,” he admitted.

I watched comprehension come into her eyes. “You are one of the Dúnedain, a descendant of Númenor, blessed with long life. It was said that your race had passed into legend.” We had given our names, of course, but Éowyn, at least, had not made the connection between Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and the heir of Isildur. I wondered if Théoden realized exactly who Aragorn was. He probably had. As King of Rohan, he would have been more aware of the significance of our names than Éowyn would have.

“There are few of us left,” Aragorn answered. “The Northern Kingdom was destroyed long ago.”

“I'm sorry,” she exclaimed, realizing that she had interrupted his meal. “Please, eat!” And she stood there and watched him eat. When she finally left, I went to his side and, kneeling, offered a piece of lembas.

“Here,” I said in Elvish. “Eat this while I look at your hand.”

“It is nothing,” he assured me, trying to draw away.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “I will not try to put a bandage on it if you will let me apply the salve Elrond gave me,” I bargained. “Arwen did tell me to tend your wounds,” I said with a smile.

Aragorn let me put the salve on his hand before eating the lembas I had brought him. When he settled back against his bedroll and drew his pipe, I took that as my cue to leave him alone. I returned to my own gear and settled down for the night. I watched for a long time before Aragorn finally fell asleep.


	19. Chapters 91-95

Chapter 91

I could not put my finger on what had changed the next morning as we broke camp and continued our trek toward Helm’s Deep, but Aragorn seemed different somehow. I watched him carefully, alert for anything that would help me understand the subtle shift.

Under other circumstances, I would simply have asked him what had changed, but Éowyn stayed right at his side, apparently encouraged by his reaction to her stew the night before. She pinpointed the change before I did. The Evenstar hung openly around his neck, not tucked inside his tunic as he had worn it before. While I pondered what that might mean, she asked him about it.

“Where is she?” Éowyn asked. “The woman who gave you that jewel?”

Aragorn did not respond for so long that I wondered if he would answer her. I did not know exactly what memories her question evoked, but he was clearly caught in the past.

“My lord?” Éowyn prompted. She had determination. I had to give her that. She also had no sense of what might be sensitive subjects for Aragorn. I never pressed him on anything where Arwen was concerned, out of consideration for his feelings, and to protect my own heart.

“She is sailing to the Undying Lands,” Aragorn said in a flat voice, “with all that is left of her kin.” ‘You are a fool, Aragorn,’ I thought when I heard his answer. ‘Her kin might be sailing, but she will not leave while you live, and maybe not even then.’ His words, though, gave me an idea of his thoughts during his silence. He must have been thinking about telling Arwen to leave, and judging by his answer, he still fully expected her to do so. I wanted to reassure him, and inform Éowyn, that Arwen was not leaving, would never leave Aragorn, but again, I did not speak. At the same time, I wondered if Aragorn regretted telling her to leave, if that was not one more uncertainty, an unnecessary one, that he had added to all the doubts and insecurities that already plagued him. I could ask him about that. Perhaps it would give me some idea of whether he was intentionally encouraging Éowyn, for it was quite clear that his answer gave Éowyn hope that he might be in a position to return her interest.

I started to go to him, to find a way to separate them, when my instincts went on alert. I could speak to Aragorn later. First, I needed to investigate the sudden unease I was feeling. I ran to the head of the column, stretching my senses as far as I could. There were no trees there to offer assistance, so I scanned the horizon, hoping my eyes and ears would be enough. I heard the snarling of a Warg and ran to the top of the rise, firing on the creature that held Háma in its jaws. I was too late to save him, but my arrow brought down the Warg before it could turn on Gamling. I ran down the hill, drawing my knife and slitting the throat of the Orc that had ridden it.

“A scout!” I called back to Aragorn.

I heard him passing on the news to Théoden, heard the cries of the refugees, the sound of Théoden ordering the riders to the front to meet the attack. I heard Gimli demand that someone help him onto Arod’s back, heard Éowyn pleading to be allowed to fight, but I did not turn. I focused on the imminent attack, arrow to my bowstring, waiting for a target to present itself. I saw them appear on the horizon, but they were out of range of my arrows. I drew back on my bow and waited, poised, for them to come just a little closer.

Behind me, I could hear the Rohirrim beginning their charge. I fired, bringing down the first Warg, then the second. Then, the charge was upon me. I flipped the bow to my back, grabbed Arod’s mane as he galloped by and swung up onto his back. Fortunately, Arod was well trained enough not to startle at the sudden addition of my weight. He reacted to my cues without my having to touch the reins. As soon as I was settled, I fired again, wanting to take out as many of the Wargs as I could before we met them. We could ill afford to lose soldiers. The Rohirrim had sword, spear, and bow in hand as we charged. We engaged the Wargs in battle, fighting fiercely. We all knew that any Warg that escaped us would make straight for the women and children we left behind. Gimli’s axe was poorly suited to fighting on horseback. He stayed behind me for a few moments, but he quickly dropped to the ground where his axe served him better. A Warg charged him. “Bring your pretty face to my axe,” he growled. I turned Arod on his heels and fired, bringing down the Warg that threatened my friend.

“That one counts as mine!” Gimli protested. He turned and found himself face to face with another Warg. Fortunately, he was fast enough to kill it, because I could not get there in time. I lost sight of both Aragorn and Gimli as we fought. There were too many horses and riders, too many Wargs, for me to keep track of one Dwarf and one Man. I had to concentrate on keeping myself alive and Arod with me. He responded to my every command, however subtle, even anticipating me at times. That, at least, was reassuring. I knew, after that morning, that I would never have to worry about Arod in battle. 

As the battle ended, I dismounted and helped dispatch the wounded Wargs and their riders. I looked around as I worked, assessing the situation. I found Gimli immediately, carrying out the same grim task that I was. Théoden was there, and Gamling, but I did not immediately see Aragorn. I looked around again, but still saw no sign of him. 

“Aragorn?” I called, still searching for him.

Gimli took up the call as well. “Aragorn?”

I walked toward the edge of the cliff where we had fought. Mild panic was building around my heart as I continued to search. Behind me, a wounded Orc laughed wickedly. Gimli approached, axe in hand.

“Tell me what happened, and I will ease your passing,” Gimli offered to the Orc. I came to Gimli’s side, wondering why he was asking this particular Orc. Then I saw the dagger imbedded in the creature’s chest. I knew that dagger. Celeborn had given it to Aragorn in Lórien.

“He's,” a cough interrupted his words, “dead! He took a little tumble off the cliff.” His words froze my heart. I grabbed the Orc’s armor. “You lie!” I accused. He died before he could say more. I threw his corpse to the ground, angry at even the suggestion that Aragorn might not have survived. Then, a flicker of light caught my eye. I looked more carefully and found the Evenstar clutched in his grotesque paw. I pried it from his grasp, staring at it blindly, still unable to believe his words. Aragorn could not be dead. It was not possible. The Evenstar in my hand, however, was proof that the Orc had indeed seen Aragorn. And I knew that Aragorn would never have parted with it willingly. It would have taken something extraordinary to separate him from the Evenstar. It meant too much to him, even believing that Arwen was leaving. I went back to the cliff edge, looking down into the gorge, hoping for some sign that he had survived. Gimli followed, standing beside me. We stared at the rocks on the side of the river. There was no sign of a body, but the river rushed through the valley, washing away all in its path. Théoden joined us there, on the cliff edge, but there was nothing to see, no trace to help us know where to search. Before I could suggest finding a way to the riverbank to conduct a search, Théoden spoke to Gamling.

“Get the wounded on horses,” he ordered. “The wolves of Isengard will return. Leave the dead.” I looked at him in shock. I could not believe my ears. He had just ordered… He could not have. He could not expect us to abandon Aragorn without even a search. What if he had survived the fall? What if he was injured somewhere along the bank of the river? If we did not search, he would die for sure. Surely Théoden understood that. He put a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “Come,” he said. He did not understand.

Elvish translations

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Melethen – my love

Melin chen – I love you

Chapter 92

Théoden turned and walked away. I stood there for a moment longer, unable to respond. I was torn. I wanted to go after Aragorn. I needed to search, even if I found him dead, just so that I would know for sure. But if he had survived, he would come to Helm’s Deep. Standing there, on the edge of the cliff, I heard again Gandalf’s words. “The defenses have to hold,” he had told Aragorn. And Aragorn had promised that they would. But Aragorn could no longer keep that promise. Even if he had survived, he might not make it to Helm’s Deep in time. I looked down at the Evenstar, cradled in my hand, then over the cliff into the ravine one last time. The longer I looked at it, the less likely Aragorn’s survival seemed. Tears threatened, but I held them in. There would be time for them later, but at that moment, I had other responsibilities. I could not help Aragorn, but I would keep his promise to Gandalf. “Díhena nin, melethen,” I whispered. “I will keep your promise. Melin chen.” I could not force myself to say the blessing for him that I had said when I thought Merry and Pippin dead. I was not quite ready to accept the finality of those words.

“Legolas?” Gimli asked.

“We can do nothing for him,” I answered sorrowfully, tucking the Evenstar into my tunic, “however much I wish we could. We must fulfill his promise to Gandalf. He would want us to do that much at least.”

Gimli agreed. We turned from the cliff and started toward Arod. As we passed the fallen Orc who had told us of Aragorn’s fate, I retrieved the dagger from his chest. If Aragorn managed somehow to survive, he would be glad to have it back. If not, it was some part of him that I could keep. The Evenstar would have to go back to Arwen, though I dared not even think of that encounter yet, but the dagger I could keep. Seeing the knife made me wonder about his sword. It did not, as far as I knew, have any particular significance to him, but he was accustomed to it. If he returned, he would be pleased to have it as well. I found it, lying amid a pile of carcasses, proof yet again of his prowess in battle. I could not help but wonder what circumstances could possibly have taken him over the cliff. 

When all was ready for our departure for Helm’s Deep, I swung up into Arod’s saddle and pulled Gimli up behind me. His presence behind me was a comfort to me. It did not ease my grief, but I knew that someone shared my sense of loss, though his could not have been as profound as mine.

We did not speak as we rode for the fortress. Gimli did not, and I could not. I could feel myself sinking into grief as we rode. The plains of Rohan had been a balm to my soul after the barren rocks of Emyn Muil, but the expanses of grass could not help with what I was experiencing then. I needed the trees to deal with this loss. While I had lost Aragorn years ago as a lover, I could hope for some connection, some contact between us as long as he was alive. That hope had not been in vain. The quest had restored our friendship, and although the lovemaking in Lórien had been for comfort, not for love, it had been. We had made love once again, after so long apart. I did not expect it to happen a second time, but it had happened that once. We had comforted each other. We had restored the connection. For that one moment, he had once again made me whole.

As we approached Helm’s Deep, the grassy plains gave way to barren rock, and then I saw the fortress nestled in the mountains. As fortresses go, it was impressive. The keep nestled in the cliff face, built into the very rock of the mountains. The surround was long and wide, protecting the keep from attack. There was not a tree within the limits of my sight. I stared blindly at the castle. How was I supposed to recover there? How could I even think of going into so much rock and stone when I was in such a state? What little was left of my soul would wither and die. It reminded me of Moria. But in Moria, I knew where the weakness came from. It came from the Ring. In Moria, I knew all I had to do was survive until we could escape. In Moria, Aragorn walked beside me, even if he was as much a temptation as he was a support. If I went into the castle before me, the weakness would come from within, from my own despair at losing Aragorn. I had no fixed time of relief, for leaving Helm’s Deep would not end my torment. Aragorn walked beside me no more. Once again, I was alone, trying to face my grief under the scrutiny of others, others who did not even know of my feelings, who could not begin to imagine the impact that Aragorn had had on my life.

I had learned to measure my happiness in terms of days and weeks, months at the most. The month that Aragorn and I had spent together before our other trip to Rohan was one of the happiest in my life. Gandalf had compared Merry and Pippin to small stones that start an avalanche. Aragorn was the pebble in the lake, whose impact caused ripples that spread to its farthest reaches, long after the pebble was gone. We were no longer lovers, had not been lovers for almost seventy years, but I was still feeling the effects of that time, short though it was. 

I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I did not feel Arod pause. “Legolas?” Gimli prompted.

I looked up to see the Rohirrim far ahead of us. I spurred Arod forward to rejoin them, knowing that I had to go to Helm’s Deep, regardless of the cost to me. Aragorn had promised Gandalf, and I had promised myself to do whatever it took to help him keep his promise.

We caught up with the Rohirrim as they entered the keep. Éowyn was there to greet us. “So few,” she exclaimed, dismayed. “So few of you have returned.” Gimli and I dismounted as she spoke. He looked at me, then at Éowyn. I shook my head. He would have to tell her. I could not make myself say the words. Not yet.

“Our people are safe,” was Théoden’s only reply. “We have paid for it with many lives.”

I turned my back as Gimli approached Éowyn. I could not even watch him tell her.

“My lady,” he began.

“Lord Aragorn,” she asked. “Where is he?”

“He fell,” Gimli replied, choking on the words. Hearing it out loud finally made it all real. I looked at Éowyn for a moment, registering the tears in her eyes that matched the tears in mine. I could not stand it any longer. I pushed past the riders and the refugees. I had to find a place to be alone, even if that meant being surrounded once again by nothing but cold stone.

Elvish translations

Melin chen – I love you

Chapter 93

I found a quiet corner where I could be by myself. It was little more than a hole in one of the walls of the keep, but it gave me the privacy I needed to release my pent-up despair. The cries I had been suppressing came welling up, forcing their way past the constriction in my throat. No words, only heart-wrenching wails, came out as I huddled there, hidden from prying eyes, a prisoner of my emotions. I had lost him. I had let him down. I had let him die. I rocked back and forth on my heels, babbling my regret, my apologies, to Aragorn, to Arwen, to the Valar. I had been given one simple task – protect Aragorn – and I had failed. A tear coursed down my cheek.

Thinking of that failure brought to mind all my other failures in regard to Aragorn. I had failed him in so many ways, from the very beginning. He had asked so very little of me when we were together before. All he had ever asked was that I tell him how I felt. Melin chen. That was all he ever asked me to say. And I had refused. I had been unable to speak, to give him the two little words he needed. I felt them. I even said them to him when he was asleep or unconscious. I whispered them in my heart, crying them silently more times than I could count. But I had not done the one thing he asked of me. I had failed to say the words when he could hear me and respond. And he was gone. I had lost my chance. Another tear followed the path of the first.

Then, in Rohan, I had failed to protect him. When we fought the Orcs outside the hamlet, I did not watch Aragorn’s back. I let him fight on his own, at the mercy of the vicissitudes of fate. And he paid the price for my inattention. I should have taken care of him. I loved him. I knew it by then. I told him so when he was lying in my arms unconscious and I thought he was dying. But I did not do for him what I had done for countless others over my long life. I did not keep him safe, outside Freyla’s village or on the way to Helm’s Deep. It seemed that Rohan was cursed for me. We had come there twice, Aragorn and I, and both times had seen me fail to protect him.

I remembered turning him away in Rivendell, when he tried to speak to me, to tell me that he had fallen in love with Arwen. He had tried to do the right thing; he had tried to explain, but I had not let him. I had left his knock unanswered, cut him off before he could speak, before he could explain. I had not wanted to hear him tell me that our relationship was over. And so, in my selfish pride, I had heard nothing. I had not wanted to give him the chance to hurt me more than, in my mind, he had already done by choosing Arwen over me that day by the waterfall that had always belonged to Arwen and me. I had wallowed in my own despair and had refused him the opportunity to settle matters between us. I had promised him many things during our courtship, among them, that I would not ask him to be what he was not, yet I had failed to keep that promise. I had expected him to be satisfied with promises of later, of soon, of some day, when he needed promises then. And then, when he tried to explain that to me, to make me understand why he had not waited for me, I refused to listen. Would he have said the same things to me the first time that he finally said to me after the Council? The answer did not matter, really. All that mattered was that I had failed to respect him, to respect his right to make his own choices. More tears flowed.

That failure had cost me his friendship. For over sixty years, I did not see him, did not talk to him, knew of him only from my one meeting with Arwen. I cut him completely out of my life. The past weeks since the council had shown me that we could still be friends, but I had thrown that away with my refusals and my anger, no matter how justified they had seemed at the time. That night, in that little hole, in the depths of my despair, no justification could make up for what I had done. I had forced a wonderful man out of my life; I had forced him to choose between his love for Arwen and our friendship. Of course he had chosen Arwen. He would have been a fool not to choose her. Aragorn was many things; a warrior, a Ranger, a leader, even a King. He had never been a fool.

It would have comforted me to think that I had learned from my mistakes, but the quest was as fraught with failures on my part as the rest of our time together had been. I had known from the beginning of Aragorn’s doubts. About his role in the Fellowship. About his heritage. About his future. I knew better than anyone what plagued him because I had seen the inception of those doubts at age twenty. I had failed to assuage them then, just as I had failed to assuage them on the quest. Aragorn had looked to me for support, even at the council. What had I done? Blurted out his identity when he would have preferred to keep it secret. Aggravated an already tense situation with Boromir rather than letting the more experienced diplomats handle him. Then, on the quest, Aragorn had shared his doubts with me, but I had still not succeeded in convincing him of his own worth. He was meant to be King of Gondor. I had seen hints of it even when I knew him as Estel. Seeing him on the quest convinced me of it. Despite his doubts, Aragorn was a leader of men. Even Boromir had seen it before the end, swearing his loyalty to Aragorn with his dying breath. But I had not done the same. Aragorn had not known that I, too, saw the rightness of his kingship.

Boromir. If I had been just a little faster in the forest on Amon Hen, if I had focused more on Aragorn and less on the Uruks, perhaps Aragorn could have moved faster as well, reaching Boromir before the final arrow hit, saving him. Aragorn needed the support of the Steward of Gondor. Boromir would have supported him. In Rohan, where Boromir was known, and where he would not have endangered our mission by challenging Éomer. In Edoras, where his presence might have swayed the King to a different path, one that would not have led to Helm’s Deep and Aragorn’s death. On the road, where his skill with a sword might have kept Aragorn alive where I had failed. At Helm’s Deep, where his leadership and experience would have helped Aragorn keep his promise, regardless of the outcome of the battle with the Wargs. Aragorn needed Boromir’s support, and I had not made sure he had it. 

Nor had I made sure he understood how deeply rooted Arwen’s support was. I had heard what he said to Éowyn. Despite my assurances, Aragorn had died believing that Arwen had abandoned him. He had died believing he was alone, for I had never had the opportunity to prove to him that, regardless of Arwen’s decision, the end of the quest was not the end of my vow. Somehow, that failure seemed the worst of them all. Arwen’s love should have been the bedrock of his life, the one unshakeable truth on which everything else stood firm. Instead, it had become another doubt, another burden that I had failed to ease. And because I could not help him with my words, I had tried to comfort him with my body, despite his having told me that he did not want me as a lover. Even that one simple request, I could not grant. I had given in to my desires and had taken him back, knowing he would regret it later, knowing that Arwen’s permission had not been a blessing. So great was my despair, that things which had once brought me comfort suddenly brought me pain. Even in Lórien, I had failed him. I was awash in tears, a river of regrets, bitter with the taste of failure, filling the spaces in my heart where I had not even realized hope still dwelled.

I was drowning in my anguish, curled up on myself like a child, as night closed in around me. I could feel myself swirling down into a pit of grief that would kill me if I could not fight it, but I had no strength, no will to resist. It had died on the cliff with Aragorn. I ran my hand lovingly over his dagger. His sword was still on Arod’s saddle, unless Gimli had retrieved it, but the knife was with me, there in the darkness. I had felt like this once before, I realized, as I caressed the blade, the night I lost Aragorn for the first time. Except that this time was worse. This time, I had lost him forever.

Chapter 94

The knife was in my hand, moving again toward my wrists, when a voice whispered through my mind. ‘You have a promise to keep. Or will you fail him one more time?’

‘Ada,’ I cried, putting every ounce of my will into projecting my mind across the distance separating me from my home as the knife clattered to the floor. Instantly, my mind and heart were wrapped in my father’s love. I did not have to tell him what had happened. I did not have to form the words, even in my mind. My father read my emotions through the link, steadying me as he had when I lost Aragorn the first time.

At first, he simply cut off my negative thoughts any time they tried to drag me back into despair, a whispered hush, stilling the words, the emotions that would harm me. He did not try to deny my pain or stop my grief. Powerful though he was, he would not have been able to that. He simply kept me afloat, refusing to let me drown in my sorrows.

‘I failed him, Ada,’ I said finally, when he had steadied me enough that I could form a coherent thought.

‘How?’ my father asked. He must have known already to have challenged me so when our conversation began, but he listened again as I listed my failings. For each one, my father had a rebuttal, an explanation of why what I had done was not as grievous as I believed. None of my failures had been intentional, he assured me. Even my refusal to listen to Aragorn in Rivendell had been done not out of cruelty, but for self-protection.

Back and forth we went, exploring the grief, separating what was real from what was guilt. Aragorn’s loss was real and serious, but my father helped me to reach a point where I could face the loss without taking the responsibility on myself. Grief was allowed, he assured me repeatedly. Guilt would cripple me.

As I came slowly out of the morass of my hopelessness, he nudged my thoughts gently toward the future. The quest was not over; the Ring had not been destroyed. Middle Earth was still in jeopardy. ‘Now is the time, ion. I told you before you left for Rivendell that duty would not be enough. Duty will not carry you through the night and tomorrow and the next night. You made a choice to go with Théoden because you wanted to keep Aragorn’s promise. Gandalf asked Aragorn for that promise for a reason,’ my father reminded me. ‘You knew it when he asked it as you know it now, even if you do not know what the reason was. You must do now what Aragorn cannot.’

‘I cannot replace Aragorn’ I insisted.

‘If you do not stand in his stead, who will?’ my father asked. ‘The Dwarf?’

That was enough to make me angry. My father had always been mildly intolerant of Dwarves, but I had long since stopped seeing Gimli as just a Dwarf. He was my companion. My friend. He was all I had left of the Fellowship. What right did my father have to belittle that? 

‘Aragorn was heir to the throne of Gondor,’ I retorted. ‘No one can take his place.’

‘He was indeed,’ my father replied. ‘But do not discount yourself. You have been a leader of Elves for many times longer than he lived. You have fought battles before. You must fight this one as well, not just for yourself. Not just for Aragorn. You must fight this battle for all of us.’

For all of us. For Gimli, who had to be suffering as well, though he hid it beneath a mask of Dwarvish reserve. For Gandalf, who had given this task to us. For Frodo and Sam, somewhere in the wilderness. For Merry and Pippin, with the Ents in Fangorn Forest. For Boromir, who had sacrificed himself so that we could go on. For Haldir and his brothers, for Galadriel and Celeborn, and for all the Elves of Lórien. For my father and my friends in Mirkwood. For Elrond and the twins in Rivendell. For Arwen, who might never forgive me for failing Aragorn, but whom I loved nonetheless. 

‘Stay true to your heart,’ my father admonished, his touch leaving me. I almost cried out, almost reached for him when I heard another voice, this one from outside, not from inside.

“Legolas?” Gimli called. “Where are you?”

So it began. I had to leave my hiding place and face a world without Aragorn. And in doing so, I had to step into his shoes, for at least a short time. I raised a mask to hide my emotions. My conversation with my father had calmed them but not rid me of them. The grief was still there, still fresh. I knew it would haunt me for as long as I lived.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself to assume my newfound responsibilities. “I am here,” I answered, stepping out of my hiding place.

Gimli looked relieved to see me but did not muster a smile. “Éowyn has found us a place to sleep. I told her I would find you so we can all get some rest.”

I followed Gimli through the keep, moving slowly, deliberately, as I forced my façade into place. I saw him eyeing me as we walked. The others, the Rohirrim and the court, would not see through my control to the roiling feelings beneath, but Gimli had traveled far as my companion. He sensed the difference, the closing off of myself, but he did not ask. He simply walked beside me, accepting the change.

Chapter 95

I felt the gazes of the refugees as we crossed the keep, but I did not meet their eyes. My own composure was too shaky to withstand that contact. I breathed a sigh of relief when we entered the tiny chamber that Éowyn had given us. There were two cots, one on each wall, our packs strewn on the ground between them, a small table on the far wall underneath an opening that might have been called a window. It at least let a glimmer of light and a breath of air into the otherwise dark, dank keep.

“Thank you,” I said softly to Gimli when I saw Aragorn’s sword by my bedroll.

“You’re welcome, lad,” he answered, spreading his bedroll on one of the cots. “I couldn’t just leave it in the stables. Not after we went to the trouble of finding it.”

I sent Gimli the closest thing to a smile that I could manage. I did not want to speak of what I was feeling, because if I started, it would all come tumbling out. I was not ready yet to share my whole story with Gimli. We were only beginning to establish a friendship. Telling Gimli about my relationship with Aragorn was beyond me still. I could talk to my father about my loss because my father understood all that had gone before. He needed no explanations. I would have had to explain everything to Gimli before he could understand my feelings. Fortunately, he saw no need to pry. “Get some sleep, lad,” Gimli advised. “We’ll need all our strength when tomorrow comes.” He snuffed out the candle on the tiny table, plunging the room into darkness. It took my eyes a few minutes to adjust, but eventually, Ithil’s flickering beams illuminated the stone cell well enough that I could see to spread out my own bedding. I did not sleep. I did not even fall into dreams, but I did rest, recuperating slowly from the emotional storm of that day.

When I felt strong enough, my hand crept into my pocket, nestling the Evenstar in my grasp. I had to take it back to Arwen, had to explain to her how I had allowed this to happen. She had asked me once if I hated her. I hoped she would not hate me, for with her alone could I share my memories of Aragorn. She, of all the folk of Middle Earth, understood what it was to love Aragorn. She, too, would understand what it was to lose him. If only she would not hate me. 

I tried to imagine the scene in my mind, wondering how I would explain the jewel. Or rather, the absence of the one to whom she had given the jewel. When we spoke in Rivendell before the departure of the Fellowship, no mention was made of the Evenstar, though she spoke of their bond. She had asked me to take care of him, to watch his back. By returning with only the Evenstar, I was admitting that I could not keep that promise. I dreaded the look on her face. I had no real justification for my failure, none that mitigated Aragorn’s death. We had fought on the same battlefield. I had protected Gimli, but I had not kept track of Aragorn. 

Even if she did not accuse me of breaking my promises, even if she laid no blame on me for Aragorn’s death, the news would still be a terrible blow to her. She and Aragorn had formed a bond, even if he had not realized it. The severing of that kind of bond was never easy, on any Elf. For Arwen, who had made the decision to give up her immortality, the effects could be even worse. I resolved right then that I would not leave Arwen’s side after I told her. I would be whatever she needed me to be. I would hold her, comfort her, listen to her stories, dry her tears, if that was what she needed. And if she could not go on, if my news was too much for her to bear, I would offer her my bond to save her life or my knives to take it, whichever she preferred. In helping her in whatever form, perhaps I would be rid of some of my own grief. We had comforted each other before. I hoped she would allow me to comfort her again.

The thought occurred to me that at least one of the reasons I had never told her of my feelings was no longer an issue. She had given her heart to Aragorn as Elrond had foreseen. That choice had been enough to push Aragorn into undertaking our quest. I no longer had to keep quiet for the good of Arda. Whether Frodo succeeded or failed on his quest, Arwen’s part in it was finished. If I spoke to her of my love, if I told her how I felt, how I had always felt, I did not risk causing Arda to fall under Sauron’s influence. And if she was indeed mortal, if that decision could not be undone, then my other reason for speaking, the fear of banishment, was also moot. My father had said long ago that he would welcome us in Mirkwood. I could stay with her there until she died, and then, I would leave for Valinor if the Valar would have me, or fade quietly under the trees of my home, if they would not. Suddenly, I had a freedom I had not imagined since the fateful day when Elrond told me Arwen had asked me to be her Cuivië lover. I could court her, if I wanted. I could be more than just an occasional lover. It would not happen right away. We both needed to grieve for Aragorn, but one day, I could have her as my mate.

I chided myself for such disloyal thoughts. Aragorn had only been dead for a matter of hours and there I was, imagining a life with Arwen. Yet, I could not stop the thoughts from forming. My father had told me, in effect, that I had to look to the future rather than dwelling on a past I could not change. As much as it grieved me to think of it, Aragorn was dead. As soon as Gandalf returned, I had to go to Arwen, had to tell her what had happened. If she did not hate me for bringing the news, then I had to help her accept it. Whether she stayed in Arda or went to Valinor, whether she remained an Elf or became a mortal, I would not abandon her. Perhaps together we could find the strength to go on without Aragorn. 

I stared down at the Evenstar, glimmering dimly in Ithil’s light. I wanted it for myself. Lying there in the darkness, listening to Gimli snore on the other cot across the room, I could finally admit it. I wanted what Arwen had given Aragorn. Everything that she had given him. Her body, her heart, her soul. All wrapped up in the symbol that had hung around his neck. I would return it to her, and then I would do everything I could to convince her to give it back to me, not for safekeeping, but to keep. For always. I would never have done it had Aragorn lived. And I would never have wished for him to die in order to clear my way. But he had died, despite everything I could do to stop it. Surely it would not be wrong to finally admit my love.

“Hiro hyn hidh ab 'wanath.” I whispered the words of Elvish blessing that I could not say at the cliff, bidding my love a peaceful journey wherever the souls of Men traveled when they left this realm. 


	20. Chapters 96-100

Chapter 96

When dawn finally came, Gimli and I rose from our cots and faced the task ahead of us. Without Aragorn. I had never really carried a sword, but I seriously considered strapping his around my hips. Just to have that reminder of him with me. Both for me and for the people of Rohan. It would be a subtle way of telling them that I had taken up Aragorn’s mantle, that I would be serving in his stead, at least until Gandalf returned. Five days, he had said. That meant I had to do this, maintain this charade for one more day. Then, I could begin the trek back to Rivendell to face Arwen and my future, whatever that would be.

We made our way through the castle, to the hall of the King, where we could eat breakfast before beginning our day. It was simple fare, bread, meat, and cheese, but it was a welcome change from the lembas that had been the extent of our meals for many days. Éowyn was there along with the rest of the court. I could see that her eyes were rimmed in red from crying. I thought about trying to offer her words of comfort, but I did not know what I could possibly say. At least when I talked to Arwen, I would be able to assure her of Aragorn’s love. There was nothing I could say to Éowyn. I could not even tell her that I understood what she was feeling because to do so would be to tell her how I felt about Aragorn. It seemed wrong, somehow, to tell a virtual stranger what I had never told Aragorn. I wondered absently if my own eyes looked any better than hers, but I did not ask Gimli. It was critical that we remain in control of ourselves. If we expected the Rohirrim to follow our lead, we had to present a solid, unified front that left no room for doubts. They were loyal to their King, but they were weak, the best soldiers having ridden away with Éomer. Théoden and Gamling had experience, but I was not sure it was the best guide under the circumstances. Already, we were retreating into our little hole, from which there was no escape if things went poorly. Gandalf had gone searching for Éomer, of that I was sure, but I had no idea whether he would be able to find him in time. 

When we had finished our meal, I gestured for Gimli to follow me out into the courtyard and through the keep. Seeing Éowyn’s obvious distress and her attempts to go on with her tasks despite her grief was wreaking havoc with my control. Every movement was deliberate as Gimli and I walked the keep. I focused all the energy I could spare on keeping my façade intact. Gimli noticed, as he had the night before, but he said nothing of it, leaving me to handle myself as I saw fit.

The situation facing us was grave. I had known it when we rode out of Edoras, but facing it with the responsibility on my shoulders, it seemed almost overwhelming. There were soldiers in the keep, a handful that had ridden with Théoden, others that must have come from areas where the wild men had already come. I counted a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty soldiers among the crowds in the castle. There were other men as well, refugees from all over Rohan who might know something about using a sword or, more likely, a bow. 

Elves did not build keeps. We fought from the trees, or on horseback. So I had no real way of judging the fortress. Gimli, however, knew stone and masonry. We had talked of it in Moria. “How strong is the keep?” I asked him as we walked along the walls. 

Gimli carefully studied the stone that surrounded us. “The walls are solid,” he said finally. “The only break is the culvert that allows the water to drain, and it is too small for anyone to pass easily. Even if they broke the grate, they would have to come through one at a time, on hands and knees, an easy target for anyone who knows how to wield an axe or a sword.” Another time I would have been amused that Gimli had mentioned an axe before a sword, but there was little room for levity in my heart. “No battering ram will bring down these walls, and it would take days to tunnel under them enough to weaken them. We need not worry on that account.” 

“And the castle gates?” I asked as we neared the entrance. 

Gimli eyed those with great dismay. He drew me away from the press of people before answering. “The gates are weak,” he told me softly. “The wood is old, weak, if not rotted, in places, and the doors swing inward. They would be stronger if they swung the other way, but there is nothing we can do about that now. Still, we should suggest that Théoden have the doors reinforced, lest they shatter with the first blow.” He looked around furtively as he spoke. It was one thing to openly praise the strengths of the fortress. It was another to criticize it when we were two strangers alone in a strange place. I began a count, trying to plan how we could best arrange the soldiers we had available. Théoden had set a watch on the outer wall, but if battle came, we would need more than a watch. The attack would come in two places, it seemed to me. They would try to scale the wall, and they would try to batter the door. Those were the two areas we needed to protect. How many soldiers it would take to protect the door depended on how well armed our enemies were. If we fought Orcs from Mordor or Moria, they would be repelled easily enough by well-supplied archers, for neither group was ever well armed. The Uruk-Hai we had fought on Amon Hen and pursued across Rohan, however, were well armed with thick armor to protect them. We would not hold them off so easily, especially since they seemed to have some understanding of tactics, rather than fighting and dying mindlessly like the Orcs in Moria or the woods of home.

We would have to find enough archers to cover the causeway leading up to the gate while still leaving enough soldiers on the outer wall to defend against the ladders that they would try to use to scale the walls. I looked hopelessly around the castle again. I simply did not see how we could do what needed to be done with the forces available to us.

My frustration must have shown on my face, though I tried to keep my emotions hidden, for Gimli patted my back reassuringly. “Gandalf will be here tomorrow,” he reassured me. “We only have to hold out until then.”

I tried to calculate in my mind the time it would have taken Gríma to reach Isengard, and the time it would take an army to march to Helm’s Deep from there. If my calculations were correct, we could expect Saruman’s army that evening or the next morning. Gandalf had promised to arrive by the next morning. And so it would be a race to see who arrived first: Saruman’s army or Gandalf, hopefully with Éomer’s Rohirrim in tow. 

We spent the morning familiarizing ourselves with the layout of the castle, with its defenses and its defenders. We found the armory and the forge, where they were kind enough to let us sharpen our weapons, dulled in battle on Amon Hen. Everywhere, we could see the preparations for a siege. Food and water being stockpiled, weapons being honed, children being ushered inside, away from the outer walls. When the time came for lunch, I spoke briefly with Théoden, suggesting as tactfully as I could that someone strengthen the outer doors. Then, I begged leave to return to the chamber Éowyn had found for us. I needed a few minutes alone to let down my guard before I became again the stoic Elf that I had pretended to be since Aragorn’s fall. Éowyn offered to send a tray for me.

“That will not be necessary, my lady,” I assured her. “Lembas is food for body and soul.”

She accepted my explanation with a simple nod. I admired her composed face, so at odds with her eyes red from tears. I was not sure I could speak without my own mask slipping, but I decided that I had to try.

“He was a warrior,” I told her softly. “He always knew and accepted that he could die in battle.”

“Do you really think that makes his loss easier to bear, Prince Legolas?” she retorted, leaving abruptly.

There was nothing else I could do for her so I returned to my room. I spent an hour there, giving vent to my hopelessness and fear. Then, I pulled my façade back in place and headed back to the main hall. I had just reached the doors when I heard an outcry from the main gate. I stopped, waiting to see what had happened so I could take word to the King. The commotion made its way up the hill, coming closer with each passing second. Finally, I could make out words. “He's alive!”

Elvish translations

Hannon chen – thank you

Le ab-dollen – you’re late

Chapter 97

I stood there, in shock, feet rooted to the ground. I could not have gone to him, even if I had wanted the entire gathering to witness our reunion. Alive. Aragorn was alive. By some miracle, he had survived and had made his way back to Helm’s Deep. Back to us. Back to me.

I could hear Gimli grumbling as he made his way to Aragorn’s side. “Where is he? Where is he? Get out of the way! I'm gonna kill him!” Those shouts stopped. He must have reached Aragorn’s side. “You are the luckiest, the canniest and the most reckless man I ever knew. Bless you, laddie.” I smiled at Gimli’s words. Lucky, canny, reckless. They were good words to describe Aragorn. He was all of those things and so much more.

“Gimli, where is the King?” I heard him ask. The words he spoke were mundane, practical, but my heart sang at the sound of his voice. I had not realized how much I cherished the little details until I had lost them and had them restored. His heart, his future belonged to Arwen. I understood that, but I had to try, at least, to show him how much he meant to me as well.

I stayed where I was, waiting for him. If he was going to see Théoden, his path would lead him straight to me. It was still more public than I would have preferred, but most of those in the vicinity were busy with tasks of their own. I would not be able to embrace him, to hold him tightly and convince myself that he was alive. I would not be able to run tender hands over him to make sure that he was unharmed. But I could not postpone seeing him until we had the privacy that would allow for those acts. I had to see him, to let my eyes do what my hands and arms could not. I needed that much reassurance, at least.

There he was, walking toward me, eyes focused elsewhere, not on where he was going. I drank in the sight of him, his very presence a balm to my soul. My gaze raked over him. Nothing had ever been so beautiful. I noticed the tear in his Ranger’s coat, the torn skin underneath. He still wore the cloak Galadriel had given him, but it was muddied and hung askew from around his shoulders. His face and hair were dirty as well, a testament to his trip down the river. I wondered, not for the last time, how he had survived, but that seemed unimportant just then. He was striding toward me, determination in every movement he made. He did not see me until he almost ran into me. He stopped suddenly, almost recoiling in surprise.

Then, he looked up and met my eyes. For a moment, neither of us spoke. I let my eyes caress his face. I saw weariness in his eyes, perhaps a little bit of fear, but mostly I saw determination. He was bringing news. Perhaps not good news, but he was bringing hope as well. I smiled, remembering the name I had known when I first met him. Estel. Hope. Elrond seemed to have chosen well when he named his foster son.

I had to say something. I could not just stand there, blocking his path, interminably. I had so many things I wanted to say. The words were crowding in my throat, begging to come out. I wanted to tell him that I had worried about him, that I had grieved for him. I wanted to explain why I had not searched for him. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry for all the times I had failed him, real or imagined. I wanted to tell him that I loved him. The words bubbled up from my heart, ready to spill out, to cover him with all that I had thought and felt since he fell. I said none of them, still aware of the refugees who circulated around us. They did not need to hear all that I had to say, even if I spoke in Elvish.

“Le ab-dollen,” I said instead, as if he were simply late for a prearranged meeting. He raised an eyebrow at that, not quite surprised, but certainly amused. I let my eyes leave his face and peruse the rest of him again. He was clearly exhausted, but other than the abrasion on his shoulder, he seemed unharmed. Filthy, but unharmed. “You look terrible,” I added.

That elicited a smile, a chuckle, and a hand on my shoulder. A thrill shot through me at his touch, as I realized, yet again, the magnitude of what was being restored to me. I just stared at him for a few seconds, still trying to convince myself that he was real and not some fantasy created by my battered heart. A great weight lifted from me as I looked at him. No longer was the defense of Helm’s Deep my responsibility. I had dreaded facing that task, sure that I did not have the knowledge or skill to succeed alone, despite my father’s reassurances. I would fight, still, if it came to a battle, but all I would have to do was follow orders. Aragorn’s orders. 

Then, I remembered the other task his death had put before me. I reached in my pocket, slowly drawing out the Evenstar. I was tempted to keep it, though I had no right to it. He would tell Arwen that it had been lost in battle, and I would have one tiny reminder of her to hold close to my heart when she was gone. As much as I wanted to keep it, though, it was not mine. It belonged to Aragorn, and I would not fail him one more time by keeping it for myself. I raised my hand, offering it to him. He looked at me, surprised, as if wondering what I was giving him, but his hand came up to meet mine, our fingers touching as I let the Evenstar pass from my hand to his. My fingers clung to him and to the Evenstar, just for a second before I released them both. He looked down at the jewel in his dirty, bloody hand before looking back at me. He wore the same amazed, slightly dazed look as he had when Arwen first gave it to him in Rivendell. He had clearly realized that it was gone and had probably dreaded explaining its loss to Arwen. Obviously, it had not occurred to him that I might find it and keep it, for him or for Arwen.

“Hannon chen,” he said softly, giving me the most beautiful smile I had seen on his face in a very long time. I returned the smile, though I imagine mine was bittersweet, since Aragorn’s return meant that, once again, Arwen would not be mine. I did not dwell on it, though. I was too happy to have Aragorn back, to know that he was alive. Arwen had never really been mine, anyway. Aragorn’s return simply restored the balance that had been a part of my life for over sixty years. I bowed my head in acknowledgement of his thanks, using it as an excuse the break our gaze. I did not want him to read too much of my thoughts on my face.

I stepped aside to let Aragorn continue on his path to the hall of the King. He did not go on immediately, though. Carefully, he examined the Evenstar and the chain, checking for damage. Seeing it unspoiled, he raised it reverently to his lips before refastening the chain around his neck, restoring the jewel to its rightful place. Then, and only then, did he head for the hall, throwing the doors wide as he walked in.

I knew then that Aragorn would never stop loving Arwen, even if he believed that she would do as he had asked. His heart belonged to her, and her alone, no matter what he said aloud about wanting her to leave. I did not know what had driven him to tell her to leave, but it was not lack of love on his part.

I glanced around before following to see who, if anyone, had observed our exchange. Éowyn stood a few yards away, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. I did not know what she had made of our interaction, but I wanted to tell her to stop pining over Aragorn. His choice had been made long before, and nothing either of us could do would ever change that.

Chapter 98

I followed Aragorn into the hall. Théoden gaped at Aragorn, unable to contain his amazement at seeing him restored to us. He ordered food and wine brought, but Aragorn waved it aside, pausing only to remove his cloak before giving Théoden his news. Saruman’s army was marching on Helm’s Deep. Gimli joined us as Aragorn was talking.

“A great host, you say,” Théoden asked, walking away from us toward the door.

“All Isengard is emptied,” Aragorn replied. I remembered my perusal of the keep and its defenders. Setting their small numbers against all of Isengard seemed like folly.

“How many?” Théoden asked.

“Ten thousand strong at least,” Aragorn answered calmly. How he managed to keep his calm, I do not know. Maybe he had not yet realized the odds.

“Ten thousand?” Théoden choked out, turning to face Aragorn. He obviously had realized how dire the situation was.

“It is an army bred for a single purpose,” Aragorn informed us. Théoden walked back toward us, his eyes asking for the reason. “To destroy the world of men.” Shock crossed Théoden’s face, as if he had not fully comprehended what Gandalf had tried to tell him in Edoras. “They will be here by nightfall,” Aragorn said. Nightfall. That meant that Gandalf would not arrive before the army. We would have to survive the night, a few hundred against ten thousand.

Théoden started walking toward the door. “Let them come!” he insisted, bravado winning out over realism. 

We followed him out of the hall along with Gamling. The situation was much as I had found it that morning. Men were spread thinly along the Deeping Wall and the interior walls of the keep. I calculated again and decided I had undercounted that morning, but not by much. If Aragorn’s estimate of the army marching our way was accurate, we were outnumbered by five hundred to one. The thick walls of the keep were to our advantage, but I kept hearing Gimli’s warning about the gates.

As we walked past refugees already being herded toward the caves in the inner reaches of the Deep, Théoden turned to Gamling. “I want every man and strong lad able to bear arms to be ready for battle by nightfall,” he ordered.

Gamling bowed and went to carry out his orders. Aragorn, Gimli, and I followed the King to the main gates. I was relieved to see timbers being added to strengthen them. Théoden had taken that advice at least.

We passed through the entrance, looking at the causeway and the protection we could afford it from the keep. “We will cover the causeway and the gate from above,” Théoden said, gesturing to the fortifications over the gate. “No army has ever breached the Deeping Wall, or set foot inside the Hornburg.” There was pride in those words, as if Théoden hoped to find the courage to face the night by remembering the feats of his ancestors.

Gimli leaned on his great axe and dismissed Théoden’s words as empty boasting. “This is no rabble of mindless Orcs,” he reminded the King. “These are Uruk-Hai. Their armor is thick, and their shields broad.”

Théoden sensed the insult in Gimli’s words. “I have fought in many wars, Master Dwarf,” he retorted. “I know how to defend my own keep.” I wondered if he really did, but I did not voice my doubts. I would let Aragorn say what needed to be said, or make what adjustments Théoden did not think to make.

Aragorn put a reassuring hand on Gimli’s shoulder as we followed the King back inside the castle and around the keep. Théoden might not have appreciated Gimli’s advice, but Aragorn had recognized the wisdom in his cautioning. Aragorn and Théoden inspected the defenses as we made our way back toward the upper levels of the castle. I had walked those same paths that morning and so did not pay as much attention as I had the first time. The stone was still as strong, the defenders still as few. Instead, I marveled again at Aragorn’s return. I could see from his gait that he was in pain, despite his assurances that he was not badly injured. I could read exhaustion, as well, in the set of his shoulders. He needed to do what he was doing. The people of Rohan needed to see him doing it, but he was going to rest before the battle began. I would see to it.

“They will break upon this fortress like water on rock,” Théoden pledged, his words breaking into my thoughts. “Saruman's hoards will pillage and burn, we've seen it before. Crops can be resown, homes rebuilt. Within these walls, we will out last them.”

“They do not come to destroy Rohan's crops or villages,” Aragorn reminded him bluntly, just in case he had not understood when Aragorn had said it before. “They come to destroy its people, down to the last child.”

Théoden turned angrily, grabbing Aragorn’s arm in his frustration. I tensed, ready to intervene if it became necessary.

“What would you have me do?” Théoden asked. “Look at my men. Their courage hangs by a thread. If this is to be our end, then I would have them make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance.” There was still determination in Théoden’s voice, but there was also a sense of hopelessness underlying it. Théoden understood perfectly what we were up against and apparently had few illusions about our chances. He expected to die that night. Théoden started back toward the castle, having clearly given up hope. Aragorn had not yet reached that point. I looked at the man in front of me. Aragorn. Estel. Hope. I had just found him again after thinking him lost. I was not ready to lose him again. I just did not see how to avoid it.

“Send out riders, my lord,” Aragorn urged. “You must call for aid.”

Théoden turned back at his words, coming to stand directly before Aragorn, his demeanor challenging.

“And who will come?” he asked. “Elves? Dwarves?” He nodded towards Gimli and me as he spoke. “We are not so lucky in our friends as you. The old alliances are dead.” I disagreed, though I did not say so aloud. I knew my father understood the importance of what was happening here. Gimli’s father had accompanied Gimli to the Council, proof that the Dwarves, too, understood. It might have been too late to ask for their help from so far away, but I did not believe they would have refused.

“Gondor will answer,” Aragorn insisted. Bold words from a yet uncrowned King.  
  


Théoden did not care for that suggestion if the look on his face was any indication. “Gondor?” he asked scornfully. “Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell? Where was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us? Where was Gon... ? No, my lord Aragorn. We are alone.” 

He stalked away, leaving us standing alone on the walls of the keep. For a moment, Aragorn remained still, perhaps debating with himself whether to follow Théoden and continue the discussion. As I waited for him to decide, I could just imagine Boromir’s outrage at Théoden’s words. Whatever Aragorn was thinking, he decided to finish his own inspection of the keep. 

“Gimli,” he said, “would you check on the gate? They may need your assistance.” Gimli agreed and headed in that direction. I followed Aragorn as he wended his way among the refugees on their way to the caves.

“We will place the reserves along the wall. They can support the archers from above the gate.” The fatigue in his voice was so clear, I just wanted to draw him into my arms.

“Aragorn, you must rest,” I insisted. “You are no use to us half-alive.” He ignored my words completely, continuing through the crowd, trying to decide how best to distribute the soldiers available to us.

“My lord,” we heard a voice cry. “Aragorn!”

Éowyn came running up, stopping directly in front of Aragorn. “I'm to be sent with the women into the caves.”

“That is an honorable charge,” Aragorn replied kindly.

“To mind the children, to find food and bedding when the men return. What renown is there in that?” I heard the frustration in her voice, the tears that threatened. I had seen her skill with a sword so I understood her frustration, but I could not help thinking that she was a spoiled child, seeking only her own glory without considering the good of her people.

Aragorn did not use those words, but he seemed to share my opinion. “My lady, a time may come for valor without renown. Who then will your people look to in the last defense?”

“Let me stand at your side” she asked.

“It is not in my power to command it,” he replied, turning back to the task at hand. I was glad to hear his response, not because I believed Éowyn incapable, but because I worried that her presence would be a distraction when we would need all of our concentration to survive the night. 

“You do not command the others to stay!” Éowyn challenged. It took me a minute to realize that she referred to Gimli and me. “They fight beside you because they would not be parted from you.” Aragorn turned back to face her, waiting to see what she would say, to decide how best to respond. “Because they love you,” she added softly. I almost panicked when I heard her words. What had I done that had revealed my feelings to her? I had been so careful, treating Aragorn only as a friend, a brother-in-arms. Had something in my voice given me away when I spoke to her before lunch? Had she seen something on my face when I returned the Evenstar to Aragorn? 

Her reaction to Aragorn’s silence finally explained her words. She did not know of my emotions. She was trying to tell Aragorn of hers. When he did not speak, she pushed past us both and ran blindly into the caves. He watched her go, something akin to regret on his face, but he did not call her back.

Elvish translations

Cuaren – my archer

Mellon nín – my friend

Tolo – come

Chapter 99

The pained mixture of emotions on his face and the exhaustion I could read in his stance finally overruled my caution. Aragorn was in no shape to be doing anything other than resting, and since he did not have enough sense to decide that for himself, I would have to make that decision for him.

“Tolo,” I ordered. I did not drag him along, not wanting to undermine the authority he would need later, but my voice and my eyes brooked no argument. 

Gimli joined us as we walked into the keep. “The gate is shored up to the best of my ability,” Gimli reported, “though more is needed. It should be rehung and reinforced properly, but there is no time for that kind of work.”

Aragorn acknowledged Gimli’s report with a weary nod which only strengthened my resolve. I glanced at Gimli. His worried expression told me that he was reading the same signs I was. I invited him into collusion with a look. “I am taking Aragorn to our room,” I told Gimli. “I want to look at his shoulder.”

“He needs to rest,” Gimli informed me, as if Aragorn were not standing right there. “I will make sure no one disturbs you.”

He stationed himself at the end of the hall leading to our chamber. “You are outnumbered,” I told Aragorn in Elvish. “You may as well give in gracefully.”

Aragorn let me lead him to the tiny room where only that morning I had grieved his death and tried to figure out what to tell Arwen. The grief was gone, and if a part of me mourned the future I had imagined for myself and Arwen, I pushed it aside, knowing that it had never been more than a dream.

When the door closed behind us, I reached for Aragorn’s coat. I could not repair it with the materials I had at hand, but I could brush it off, rid it of some of the mud that covered it. The cloth underneath was torn in many places, the worst at the shoulders. I wished I could offer him a bath to ease his weary muscles, but all I had was an ewer of water and a basin and a towel.

“Sit,” I told him, gesturing to the bed. “Let me take care of you.”

It was a measure of his exhaustion that he did not argue with me, collapsing wearily onto the cot where I had slept the previous night. With no prying eyes to judge him, he slumped against the wall, unable even to keep himself upright. I unbuckled my bracers, not wanting to get them wet. I poured some water into the basin and brought it and the towel from their place on the tiny table, setting it on the bed beside him. He was so covered in dirt and blood that I hardly even knew where to start.

“Close your eyes,” I told him. “Let me do this for you.” I dipped the edge of the towel in the cool water and wiped his face gently. The angle was awkward, so I dropped a knee to the bed, leaning in to clean away the dirt, sweat, and blood that had accumulated on his skin. I wished again for a bath so I could wash his hair, but short of pouring the water over his head as he leaned over the basin, I did not see how I could accomplish that. 

When his face was clean, I reached for the ties on his tunic, undoing it and the laces on his shirt before pulling him forward while I removed them. He leaned bonelessly against me, more relaxed in my presence than he had been since our time in the little inn. As I helped him return to his position against the wall, my eyes landed on the Evenstar. I did not touch it. It was not mine to remove. I could clean around it.

I dampened the towel again and ran it over Aragorn’s chest, washing away the rigors of the last two days. I forced my hands not to linger where I knew him to be sensitive to a touch, no matter how much I longed to caress him. I wished I could hear him moan under my ministrations. Just to prove to myself that he was still alive. I could not control my feelings, but I would control my actions. When I had removed all the dirt I could, I rose from my perch and dumped the water, refilling the basin with clean water so I could tend to his wounds.

It hurt me just to look at his damaged skin, even knowing that the injuries were only on the surface, not deep enough to cause any lasting harm. I bathed both shoulders as gently as I could, loath to cause any more pain to my beloved. I forced my mind away from such thoughts. Aragorn belonged to Arwen, I reminded myself. Any other future was folly, the product of a grief-stricken mind. When the abrasions were clean, I dug in my pack for the healing salve I kept there. I wished idly for some miruvoir, for although the potent drink had less of an effect on mortals than on Elves, it still had restorative properties that Aragorn sorely needed. I smoothed the ointment over every cut and scrape I could find. I had no bandages, but at least I had treated the injuries. The feel of his skin under my hands was exhilarating. I told myself to ignore my reactions, to forget who I was tending and just do the job at hand, to no avail. It was as if my skin recognized his, not needing my eyes or my mind to confirm his identity.

His eyes were closed when I finished tending his wounds. My hands settled on his shoulders, fingers seeking the knots in his neck and along his collarbones. I kneaded his muscles gently, trying to bring him ease from all that troubled him. Those muscles quickly relaxed, but I could not reach any lower with him in that position. He needed to lie down. I wanted him to rest, anyway. I reached for his boots, drawing them off one at a time, looking at his breeches with distaste as I did so. They were filthy and damp still. He could not rest peacefully in them.

“Stand up, just for a moment,” I asked. “You will sleep better without these dirty clothes.” He let me pull him to his feet and strip his breeches off. I forced my eyes not to focus on him, not to take advantage of his exhaustion to indulge my pointless need for him. As soon as he was undressed, he collapsed again, face down on my bed.

Once again, I replaced the water in the bowl so I could wash his feet and legs. He would have to put back on the same clothes I had just taken off him, but I hoped the sponge bath would refresh him at least a little. When he was as clean as I could make him under the circumstances, I returned to the massage I had been giving him. 

I tried to focus on the wall over his head as I knelt beside his unclothed body. I tried not to think of what I was doing as I kneaded his naked flesh. He was not mine. I had no right to take pleasure in touching him. He needed to rest, not to have me bothering him with desires he could not assuage. I told myself all of this and more, but I could not stop my body’s reaction to his nearness.

“What happened after I fell?” Aragorn asked softly.

His question took me aback. “We searched for you on the battlefield,” I recounted. “An Orc told us you had gone over the cliff. I did not want to believe him, but he had the Evenstar in his hand and your dagger in his chest. I started to search for you, but I did not see how you could have survived. Then, when I remembered your promise to Gandalf, I knew we had to go with Théoden, to help hold the keep until he returned. I never meant to abandon you,” I swore, my voice taking on a desperate tone.

“I know,” Aragorn reassured me. “You did the right thing.” I relaxed at his words and resumed the massage. “Did you have to fight your way to Helm’s Deep?”

“We came across no one else after we left the cliffs. Why do you ask?” My hands were still on his back, but they were moving much less purposefully as I concentrated on our conversation rather than on the massage. 

“I remember going over the cliff, my hand caught in the Warg’s saddle. I remember hitting the water, going under, still struggling to get free. Then there is a blank, a period of time for which I have no memory. I must have floated down the river for some distance before the current washed me ashore. I do not know how long I lay there, but I dreamed, there on the shore. I dreamed that I saw Arwen. She reached out to me, imbuing me with her strength. It was as if she was there, Legolas. I could almost feel her lips touching mine.”

What does that have to do with me? I wanted to ask. Why are you torturing me with what I can never have? But I said nothing. Aragorn did not know how I felt about Arwen. He did not know that I had just spent the previous night imagining that it was my lips that she would one day kiss.

“I told you she would not leave you,” I said mechanically. They were not the words I wanted to say. I could never say what was really in my heart.

“I dreamed that she said the strangest thing just before I awoke,” Aragorn added, his voice sounding sleepy again. “She said that you were in danger.” His voice trailed off, as if he had fallen asleep.

My hands froze. How could he have guessed? How could she have known? I had no doubt that she had talked to him in his dreams. I had seen the bond between them. Their souls were joined. Had he been an Elf, she would have been able to sense him, talk to him, anywhere this side of the sea. But to speak of me! To know of my peril! How had that happened?

He stirred beneath me. I resumed the massage, hoping he would think I was simply taking a break. “I thought it was just a dream,” Aragorn murmured. “Then you gave me back the Evenstar, and I felt again the touch of her soul. And I knew that the dream was real.”

I tried to suppress the sob, tried to keep my emotions inside.

“Legolas?” Aragorn prompted me.

“I thought I had lost you. I thought you were dead,” I said with a trembling voice. He rose up on one elbow, turning just a little to look at me.

“I am all right, mellon nín,” he assured me. “You have given me a balm for my soul, and a salve for my body. I am as healed as you can make me. Let me do this for you. Let me help you heal.”

His words made no sense to me at first. I was not injured. What need had I of healing? Then he took my hand in his and raised it to his face, his lips coming to rest on the inside of my wrist. In that moment of surreal reality, of stopped time, when everything hung in the balance, I could feel his beard under my hand, his moustache tickling my wrist. I knew those sensations, had once considered them mine to have whenever I wanted. I struggled a moment longer with my conscience, with my sense that, despite his dream, this was wrong. I no longer had a right to them. To him. “Cuaren,” he added.

The dam broke. All my good intentions disappeared, and I was lost. Lost in him as I had never believed I could be again.

Elvish translations

Cuaren – my archer

Chapter 100

My eyes closed with the force of my emotions, unleashed in my heart if not on my lips. Desire raged through me, crumbling whatever resistance might have lingered. It had been fed by the feeling of touching his face, his chest, his back as I washed his body earlier. It swept me along, into his arms, against his lips, mouths meeting, tongues twining, bodies rubbing together blindly in passion. 

Aragorn’s hands stripped me swiftly, ridding me of all that separated us, skin finally coming into contact with skin. My hands flew over his body as his flew over mine, finding the sensitive spots as easily as we had when we were lovers. He pulled me down onto the cot beside him, wedging me between his firm body and the wall. I arched away from the cold stone, finding the heat of his skin infinitely preferable.

I felt as if I was drowning in the pleasure of being with him again. In Lórien, I had focused entirely on him, and while he had seen to my pleasure, the exchange had been for his benefit. This time was about me. He wanted to help me restore my balance, but he was going about it the wrong way. I did not need him to take charge of this encounter. I needed to do this, to prove to myself that he was, in fact, returned to me.

I know that now, standing here in Valinor, but I was not thinking that clearly at the time. Then, I knew only the desire to control our interaction as I could control precious little else in my life. Since Aragorn’s fall, my emotions had swirled out of control. First grief, then joy had surged through me with the relentless force of the tides. Seeing him, tending him had brought them all to the surface. Hearing him call me cuaren, when I had thought he would never call me that again, had unleashed them. I could not slow the currents driving us toward completion. I did not want to slow them, only to direct them.

I pushed up to lean over Aragorn. He subsided to the cot beneath me, giving me the time and the space to assuage my desires and calm my fears. With passion prodding me to action, I could not gentle the kiss that I bestowed upon his lips then, but I could savor it. The gentle scratch of his beard, the firm pressure of his lips, the sharp edges of his teeth, the seductive roughness of his tongue, the incredible heat of his mouth. I crushed our mouths together as if my very life depended on that connection. Perhaps Arwen was right; perhaps it did.

I poured every doubt, every fear, every anxiety that had tormented me into that kiss, letting the undeniable reality of his presence soothe them. I had been drowning in sorrow. His return was the lifeline that had pulled me from the wellspring of my despair. I needed him like I needed to breathe.

When I could tear my mouth away from his, I attacked his chest, sucking and biting at his flesh as if it could feed me. It did not feed my body, but the contact certainly fed my soul. He arched to meet my onslaught, giving me unfettered access to his body as I had once given him access to mine.

I did not think about his pleasure as I ravaged him. I thought only of sating myself in his willing depths. My lips skated over his broad chest, discovering the new breadth and depth that had developed over the years. I had looked my fill in Lórien, but this time I could touch, could taste, to my heart’s content. I rediscovered the taste of his taut nipples, the texture of the dusting of hair that covered his chest, the smell of his skin when heated by desire, the sound of his moans when I drew especially hard on his nipple. I hoped the thick walls of the keep were obscuring the sounds we were making because I did not want Gimli to come checking on us.

I paused in my attack long enough to trace the fine silver chain that held the Evenstar with my tongue, the cool links a stark contrast to his heated skin. I dropped a swift kiss on the jewel itself, its contours leaving delicate imprints on my lips. I sent silent thanks to Arwen for the miracle of her understanding. I still did not know how she had sensed my state of mind, but I was grateful that she had. I could not have gone into battle with the turmoil of the past day still roiling inside me.

I trailed my lips down Aragorn’s torso. The cot was too short and too narrow for me to lie beside him or between his legs when I turned my attention to his erection so I sank to my knees on the floor beside the cot, heedless of the unforgiving cold of the stone floor. As I had done with his chest, I took my time relearning this area of Aragorn’s body. The taste of the fluid that had already gathered at the tip of his shaft, the texture of the tightly stretched skin, so different from the rest of him, the musky smell of his passion, the strangled gasps that tore from his lungs as I lapped at his arousal. When I had filled my senses with those sensations, I drew him into my mouth, sucking on his turgid flesh.

For a time, Aragorn accepted that configuration, but before long, he shifted on the cot, reaching for my hips, drawing me onto the bed to kneel over him. I let him pull me into the position that suited him, beyond caring about the disposition of my limbs as long as I did not have to move my mouth from his erection. My hands tightened on his thighs, holding him in place. Then his arms encircled my hips, fingers sinking into my buttocks, drawing me back so he could take me in his mouth, and I discovered a new pleasure as he reciprocated the caresses that I was pressing on him. The surprise stilled my lips temporarily, but Aragorn bucked his hips slightly, drawing my attention back to the very enjoyable matter at hand. He mimicked my actions precisely, returning pleasure for pleasure, as we sucked and licked, nibbled and swallowed our way toward release.

My orgasm, when it came, wracked my body, leaving me trembling against Aragorn. Fortunately, I could feel the same tremors running through him. I eased around until I could kiss him, our tastes mingling as our tongues met. His arms folded around me, drawing me into an embrace that I could not have taken the time to appreciate earlier.


	21. Chapters 101-105

Elvish translations

Díhena nin – forgive me

Kamelo nin – make love to me

Maba nin – take me

Chapter 101

I lay in his arms, feeling my heartbeat slow, my breathing return to normal. With it came a return to reality. The reality of having once again caused Aragorn to betray Arwen. The reality of once again having given in to my weakness where Aragorn was concerned. Of having failed him one more time. I loved him, but I could not have him. I knew that, yet I had not resisted. The temporary relief I had found in his arms would only lead to more heartache later. I had brought him to that room to rest, to heal. Not to take advantage of him. 

I tensed to pull away, to let him get the rest he needed. 

“What is it?” he asked me, feeling me start to move back.

“Díhena nin, Aragorn. I…” I never finished my sentence. He did not let me. His lips closed over mine, stilling my words. My flimsy resistance was no match for his lips, for my love.

The sound that escaped into his mouth was neither moan nor sob but some mixture of both as the passion that I had thought burned out rekindled in my heart and my loins. I returned the kiss greedily, despite my reservations.

“There is no guilt here,” Aragorn assured me, stroking my back. “Take what you need from me so that you can do what we will need to do tonight.”

I searched his face, his eyes, for any sign of hesitation, of doubt, of regret. I found none. He lay willingly beneath me, a fire in his eyes that matched the one in my soul. “Kamelo nin,” he urged. I must have gaped at him. I know his words shocked me.

And aroused me, burning away my doubts. They were words I had never thought to hear again.

As if the words were not enough to start the conflagration, his hands left their place on my back, one to tangle in my hair, the other to caress the sensitive tip of my ear.

Some inner voice cautioned against leaving a visible mark, so I contented myself with tasting the spot behind his ear that I knew to be so sensitive, rather than sucking there as I had so often done before. He was sufficiently bruised and battered that perhaps no one would have noticed one more mark, but it was a risk I dared not take. I had seen no regrets in his eyes when making his offer. I did not want to give him reason to regret it later.

The embrace that had been comforting moments before turned quickly torrid as more deliberate caresses replaced the teasing ones. The emotions raging through me were too strong for gentleness, but the desperation was gone. Aragorn’s care had washed away my fears. All that remained was the sense of having failed him. Too many times to count. I did not speak of those failures, as I did not speak of so many things, my silence, in retrospect, the one true failure. 

There was no room on that narrow cot for me to lie beside Aragorn to give us the freedom to explore each other so I sat up, straddling his hips. He looked at me with simmering eyes. As impossible as it should have been, given his love for Arwen, he desired this. Desired me. The light from the window made the Evenstar shimmer against his dark skin. I wanted to reach for it. I wanted to snatch it off him and throw it away. I wanted to keep it for myself.

The maelstrom of emotions was more than I could bear. I had to escape it, or I would go mad. I needed more than just release. I needed to lose myself completely. In Aragorn. I reached for my pack and withdrew the vial of oil that I always kept there. Aragorn’s gaze grew hotter as he watched me coat my fingers. I wanted to give him tenderness to make up for my earlier assault, but my emotions were still too turbulent to draw this out.

I moved lower and trailed my fingers down his chest to his reviving shaft. He spread his legs, leaving me room to kneel between them. I stared down at him, lying willing and open before me, making himself completely vulnerable to me as I had made myself to him in Lórien. I closed one hand around his erection while I stroked his puckered entrance with an oil-coated finger. I could feel the heat rising from his flesh, heat that I wanted to share. I massaged his tight opening until it yielded to me, letting me inside again after so long. I took the time to reacquaint myself with the feeling of his snug passage, seeking out the spot that would give him pleasure. His hips rose to meet my hand, the sultry movement enough to push me beyond the limits of my control. I added a second finger, stretching the guardian muscle as quickly as I could without hurting him. I was trying to force myself to add a third finger, to stretch him properly, when he reached for me, pulling me into a scorching kiss.

“Do it,” he ordered. “Maba nin.”

I coated my erection quickly and thrust fervently into him with a sense of homecoming that overwhelmed me along with the reminder that this could have been mine by right, if not for my selfish pride. I drove into Aragorn again, seeking absolution in the fire of our joining. He rose up to meet my thrusts, his willingness searing away all thoughts of anything except for him. I doubt he ever understood what making love to him meant to me that day. I found forgiveness in his arms and his body.

I had no strength for patience or control. My movements quickly became erratic as my release neared. I reached between our bodies to stroke Aragorn’s erection, wanting to bring him the same joy that was burning through me.

I collapsed on top of him, breathing harshly, caught still in the throes of passion. As he had before, he cradled me against him, his embrace as healing as our joining had been.

I did not tense that time when reality returned, because I was slowly coming to understand that it was a different reality from the one I had perceived before. Only the charred remains of my doubts and guilt lingered. Aragorn did not blame me for any of my perceived shortcomings. I have never stopped regretting the missed opportunities when I could have told him of my love, but after that day, I no longer feared that Aragorn harbored any resentment because of that. 

I lay in his arms, drawing strength from his presence until it was time to rise and face the night ahead. As he and Arwen had intended, I left that room with a clear conscience, heart and hands steady, all my focus on the coming battle. 

Elvish translations

Hannon chen – thank you

Mae govannen – well met

Nach maetolo – you’re welcome

U-moe edaved – there is nothing to forgive

Chapter 102

The angle of the light from the window reminded us of the passing time. We had a battle to prepare for and little enough time to do so. Reluctantly, I rose, handing Aragorn the still damp towel. When he had wiped away the evidence of our passion, I took the towel back and did the same for myself. We began to dress, having no choice but to put back on the clothes we had so recently removed. Before Aragorn put his shirt back on, I reapplied the salve to his cuts, coating them as best I could. Aragorn knocked some of the mud from his boots and coat as he dressed, but nothing helped the rips and stains.

When we were dressed again, I turned to Aragon. “Hannon chen,” I said softly.

“Nach maetolo, mellon nín,” he replied with a smile and a squeeze of my shoulder.

We left the room and retrieved Gimli from his watch in the corridor. He made no comment, but I thought I caught a knowing smile on his lips. I shrugged my shoulders. I could do nothing if he knew and did not want to make him wonder if he did not know.

We made our way to the armory to see how the battle preparations were going. The sight that greeted us was hardly reassuring. The soldiers who there were providing weapons to the men and boys who had been recruited from among the refugees. Aragorn searched among the stockpiled weapons for a sword. I had forgotten to return his. He did not find one to his liking, throwing each one back onto the stack after examining it. I watched with a sinking heart as I saw the fear on their faces, especially the faces of the boys. They had no concept of what they were about to face and no experience to help them face it. Aragorn and Gimli were making the same assessment I was.

“Farmers, farriers, stable boys,” Aragorn said softly as he looked over the room’s occupants. “These are no soldiers.”

“Most have seen too many winters,” Gimli observed, watching an old man pick up a sword.

“Or too few,” I added as a soldier fitted a young lad with a helmet.

We watched them for a few more minutes before I exclaimed, “Look at them. They are frightened. I can see it in their eyes.”

I turned away as they turned to stare, resentment and even anger mingling with the fear in their eyes. I debated for a moment whether to speak. I knew Aragorn had made a promise, but this was suicide. I switched to Elvish to continue the conversation. That meant excluding Gimli, but Aragorn was the one who had to make our decisions. “Boe a hyn,” I added. “Neled herain dan caer menig.” Three hundred against ten thousand. The odds could not get much worse. Even with the fortifications of the keep to help us, we barely had enough soldiers to man the defenses.

“Si beriathar hyn, ammaeg na ned Edoras,” Aragorn replied. That was true. At Edoras, they had no chance of defending themselves, at least not against the kind of army that was marching against us. 

“Aragorn, nedin dagor hen u-'erir ortheri,” I said bluntly. I just did not see any way that the Rohirrim could win the upcoming battle. This was going to be a slaughter. “Natha daged dhaer.” And truthfully, I did not want us to die along with them.

“Then I shall die as one of them!” Aragorn shouted, staring at me coldly, all our recent accord shattered, before stalking away. I started after him. To argue, to apologize, to convince him to leave, I did not know. Just to stop him from leaving me.

“Let him go, lad,” Gimli said, stopping me from following Aragorn. “Let him be.”

As soon as he was out of sight, I regretted my tone, if not my words. Even in Elvish, it must have been obvious to everyone that I had challenged Aragorn’s decision to stay and help defend the keep, not the best way to inspire confidence in his leadership. I had been a soldier for many years more than Aragorn had been alive. I was no stranger to battle, to risk, to death, but I was only barely recovered from Aragorn’s last brush with death. To have him so blithely choose to face it again was unsettling to say the least. I took a deep breath, knowing that his promise to Gandalf bound him as completely as it had bound me when I believed him dead. We had both faced long odds and survived before. Since I could not talk him out of this battle, I would just have to make sure he survived it. That meant, among other things, returning his sword and his dagger, which were still in our room. I told Gimli where I was going and asked him to keep track of Aragorn while I was gone. He agreed.

When I had retrieved Aragorn’s weapons, Gimli pointed me to a small room off the armory. I entered in time to see Aragorn fastening a leather jerkin over a chain mail vest that he had obviously found in the armory. His movements were practiced, decisive, telling me that he was committed to this path. So be it. I would keep my promise to Arwen. I would stand beside him and protect him as best I could. I offered him the hilt of his sword as he looked up.

“We have trusted you this far; you have not lead us astray. Forgive me. I was wrong to despair,” I said, praying that he would accept my apology. I needed the harmony between us restored.

He took his sword from me, a look of surprise and delight on his face. “U-moe edaved, Legolas,” he assured me _,_ putting a hand on my shoulder. My hand came up to return the embrace, careful to reach high enough to avoid his injuries. As if knowing we had made our peace, Gimli entered, a chain mail vest bunched around his chest.

“If there was time, I'd get this adjusted,” he grumbled. As he spoke, he released the mail, letting it drop to the floor. Several inches brushed the ground. Aragorn and I looked at him, and then at each other, amused. When he added, “It's a little tight across the chest,” it was all we could do not to laugh out loud. Before our mirth could get the better of us, we heard the sound of a military horn echoing through the keep. I did not see how it was possible, but I recognized that tone.

“That is no Orc horn” I exclaimed, unnecessarily perhaps, since Aragorn, at least, should have been as familiar with the sound as I was. We rushed out of the room, up the stairs toward the gate.

As we reached the courtyard, I heard a familiar, haughty voice. “I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell. An alliance once existed between Elves and Men. Long ago, we fought and died together.” 

Aragorn and I burst through the assembled soldiers, meeting Haldir’s amused gaze. “We come to honor that allegiance,” he said, to Aragorn as much as to Théoden.

Aragorn rushed past Théoden. “Mae govannen, Haldir,” he exclaimed. Haldir bowed his head in acknowledgement. Aragorn offered him an Elvish salute, hand across his heart, which Haldir returned. Then, he pulled Haldir into a hug, a hug that Haldir was clearly not expecting, though he returned it awkwardly. “You are most welcome.”

While Aragorn was greeting Haldir, I stared in amazed relief at the long file of Elvish soldiers, their hooded capes covering their armor. When Aragorn stepped back, I greeted Haldir in turn, a warrior’s greeting, one hand to his shoulder in a circle that he completed with one hand to mine. As if that greeting was a sign, the Elves turned in unison to face Théoden, their boots resounding on the stone of the courtyard. I joined them, their presence at my side a refutation of Théoden’s insistence that Rohan had to stand alone. I did not gloat, but I could not suppress my smile. Hope had returned to Rohan at last, in the form of this army of Elves.

“We are proud to fight alongside Men once more,” Haldir concluded. 

Elvish translations

Dago han – kill him

Dartho – hold

Leithio – fire

Chapter 103

Aragorn took immediate charge of Haldir’s soldiers, explaining the details of the situation to Haldir and discussing how best to place the warriors around the fortress. They decided quickly to position the Elves along the outer wall where their arrows and their experience could be put to good use. Their orders given, the Elves shed their cloaks, gathered their weapons and moved across the Deeping Wall, three deep. Gimli and I joined them, my bow and his axe best suited to the kind of fighting that would take place there that night. Unfortunately, Gimli discovered, after we staked our places, that he could not see over the ramparts.

“You could have picked a better spot,” he informed me caustically.

I smirked at him, but it was friendly teasing, unlike the harsh words we so often exchanged early in the quest. Before I could think of a suitable reply, Aragorn joined us on the surround.

“Well, lad,” Gimli said, looking up at Aragorn, “the luck you live by… let's hope it lasts the night.”

Lightning lit the sky as we stood there together, the three Hunters, as I later learned we had been called in Rohan, awaiting the greatest test yet of our friendship, our skill, and our determination. Thunder rolled as we waited.

“Your friends are with you, Aragorn,” I promised, knowing that I could offer no more than that. It was small comfort, at best, but it was what I had to give.

“Let us hope they last the night,” Gimli muttered. 

As we stood there, staring out into the dark night, we began to see the torches of the army of Isengard. As we watched their approach, rain began to fall, drenching us thoroughly. They approached at a steady pace, coming to a stop a few hundred yards from the base of the Deeping Wall, forming ranks like any disciplined corps of soldiers. These were indeed Uruk-Hai, not the mindless Orc rabble that infested Dol Guldur and Moria. They would press us hard that night. We stood alert, waiting for the signal to begin.

Aragorn walked among our ranks, offering encouragement and advice. “A Eruchin,u-dano i faelas a hyn,” he ordered, “an uben tanatha le faelas.” They had certainly shown no mercy to Boromir on Amon Hen. They would find none from us that night.

Beside me on the wall, Gimli jumped up, trying to see over the ramparts.

“What's happening out there?” he asked in a frustrated voice.

I smiled. “Shall I describe it to you, or would you like me to find you a box?”

Gimli stared at me in shock for a moment, then started to chortle. I found the sound strangely reassuring. There we were, less outnumbered than we had been before the arrival of the Elves, but still greatly overmatched, facing a battle that eventually claimed the lives of most of those defending the keep, yet Gimli was able to laugh at my joke as if we were facing nothing more daunting than a hike through the woods.

They began to chant, a toneless roar that washed over us. Aragorn drew his sword, a visible cue to reinforce his orders.

A single arrow flew from among the Rohirrim, released before the order came, felling an Uruk in the front rank.

“Dartho!” Aragorn shouted over the noise of the storm and the distance to the keep, not wanting us to spend our arrows before we could be sure of our shots. The Uruks began to rage, and their captain ordered the attack to begin. At his command, the enemy soldiers rushed toward the base of the keep.

“Tangado a chadad,” Aragorn ordered. We pulled arrows from our quivers and took careful aim at his words. It would only be a matter of seconds before we began our assault.

“Faeg i-varv di na lanc a nu ranc,” I told the Elves around me, letting them know that the Uruk-Hai armor was weak at the neck and under the arm. I blinked away the rain that tried to obscure my vision. I was the best archer in Mirkwood, and I planned on proving it again that night.

The order finally came to fire. “Leithio i philinn!” Aragorn shouted. We fired, our arrows finding our targets with the ease of much practice.

“Have they hit anything?” Gimli wanted to know. As if that many Elves could all miss their targets on such a crowded battlefield. I did not even respond as I set another arrow to my bow and waited for the order to come again.

I heard an order for the Rohirrim to fire, but Aragorn was my captain. I would follow his orders. “Leithio!” Aragorn called, and we fired again, those of us on the wall and those behind, their arrows sailing over our heads.

Gimli was twitching with impatience beside me. “Send them to me,” he yelled. “Come on!”

Despite our arrows, some of the Uruks had reached the base of the wall and were lifting ladders and starting to climb. We continued to fire, picking off the enemy one at a time, but they were too numerous for our arrows to stop them all.

“Pendraid!” Aragorn warned as the first of the ladders were raised against the ramparts.

“Good!” Gimli shouted gleefully.

“Swords!” Aragorn ordered as the Uruks began to come over the wall. The Elves around me drew their swords as he commanded and met the enemy in hand-to-hand combat. Gimli eagerly joined in, his axe bringing down Uruk after Uruk.

After a moment, he turned to me. “Legolas!” he called. “Two already!” 

‘He wants to turn this into a competition?’ I thought. ‘I will give him competition.’

“I am on seventeen!” I replied. I had not been keeping count of my kills so much as keeping track of how many arrows I had fired so I would know when my quiver was almost empty, but if Gimli wanted to see who could kill the most Orcs, I would gladly oblige him.

“What!” he exclaimed in semi-mock outrage. “I'll have no pointy-ear out scoring me!” And he ran back into the fray.

I fired twice more in quick succession, always preferring my bow to any other weapon when it would serve. “Nineteen!” I shouted to him, getting into the spirit of the game. I tried to keep track of Aragorn, further down the rampart, holding his own as usual against those who came against him. He had moved away from me while issuing orders so I was not fighting at his back as I would have preferred, but every Orc I killed was one that could not endanger Aragorn. I fired again, protecting my own back as well.

Then, the fighting was too close for my bow. I swung it over my shoulders and drew my long knives, thrusting and parrying, cutting and dodging, bringing down those who attacked me.

I was vaguely aware of Gimli, standing on the ramparts between two ladders, striking Orcs on both sides as they climbed, and keeping count of every stroke. “Seventeen... eighteen... nineteen... twenty... twenty-one... twenty-two…twenty-three…”

The press around me eased just as I heard Aragorn’s shout. “Causeway! Na fennas!” I looked toward the ramp up to the main gates and saw a contingent of Uruks approaching the doors, shielded from the front and from above. Battering ram, was my first thought. My bow was in my hand as I fired automatically, picking off the attackers. Other archers did the same.

“Togo hon dad, Legolas!” Aragorn shouted to me. I turned my focus from the causeway, seeking the new threat that Aragorn wanted me to bring down. There it was, an Uruk carrying a torch, running toward the base of the Deeping Wall. I fired immediately, hitting the Uruk high in the chest. The arrow penetrated, but it did not slow his approach.

“Dago han!” Aragorn ordered. “Dago han!” I fired a second arrow, again hitting my target, again failing to bring him down. The creature staggered and stumbled into the culvert, his torch causing an explosion that shook the Deeping Wall, destroying a huge section. The section where Aragorn had been standing. All around me Elves and Orcs, debris and boulders went flying. The noise was deafening, reverberating, echoing, over and over. Even as the sound vibrated through me, I ducked this secondary assault and searched for Aragorn. I saw Gimli right away, knocked to the rampart but still moving, but I did not see Aragorn on the wall. I turned my eyes to the dry moat behind the wall where a battery of Elves waited. There, on the ground, I saw Aragorn. Lying unmoving. As Uruks rushed into the breach.

Elvish translations

Herio – charge

Nan barad – to the keep

Chapter 104

Gimli struggled to his feet as I stared at Aragorn, in shock that I had not brought down my quarry. Gimli recovered more quickly than I did, shouting Aragorn’s name and leaping from the wall to the ground. Aragorn stirred at the sound of Gimli’s voice, coming slowly to his feet, shaking his head as if to clear the confusion. Gimli plied his axe with deadly skill, but the rush of bodies plowing into him took him down, and his head disappeared under the water that had flowed through the culvert.

“Gimli!” Aragorn shouted when he saw the Dwarf disappear.

“Hado i phillin!” he yelled to the Elves behind him. They fired on his orders, arrows finding their marks with deadly accuracy.

“Herio!” Aragorn ordered, retrieving his sword and leading the charge. Gimli had still not come up from beneath the surface of the stream that ran through the drainage ditch. I was beginning to worry about my friend. I glanced around me. With the hole in the wall, fewer Orcs were trying to come over the ramparts. The Elves around me could deal with them. I needed to help my friends. I could not repair my failure, but I could, at least, try to redeem it. I did not know what difference I could make, one against thousands, but I had to try.

I grabbed a shield and threw it across the slick stones, jumping on it as it slid down the stairs leading to the breach. I fired repeatedly as I went, trying to clear the area where Gimli had gone down. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I let the shield fly from under my feet into the chest of a particularly nasty Uruk. I slung my bow over my shoulder and drew my knives, engaging the enemy hand to hand. Aragorn had reached the stream by that point and was fishing Gimli out of the water. Behind him, the Elven warriors reached the incoming Uruks, swords clashing over the roar of the monstrous voices.

We did not completely stem the flow of Orcs into the area between the wall and the keep, but we were holding our own when Théoden’s voice cut through the sounds of battle. “Fall back!” he yelled down to us. “Aragorn! Fall back to the keep! Get your men out of there!”

Aragorn acknowledged Théoden’s orders, passing them on to the Elves. “Nan barad!” he shouted. “Nan barad!”

I started with the other Elves back toward the keep when I noticed that Gimli was not following Aragorn’s orders. I caught the eye of another Elf and nodded toward Gimli. We each grabbed an arm, carrying him, protesting, toward the entrance to the keep.

I heard Aragorn shout to Haldir as I pulled Gimli toward the relative safety of the castle. “Haldir, nan barad!”

Gimli did not care for our interference. “What are you doing? What are you stopping for?” he asked. We ignored the question, getting him inside before releasing his arms. He immediately headed toward the main gate where Orcs with a battering ram were trying to break through.

“Nan barad!” I heard Haldir shout. They were the last words I heard him speak on this side of the sea. I had not been keeping track of the progress of the retreat, trusting to the experience and training of the Elves to ensure an orderly withdrawal, and so did not see Haldir fall, did not immediately see the worst casualty of my failure. I made my way to the upper walls of the Hornburg where my bow could be put to continuing good use. On the way, I replenished my supply of arrows, not wanting to run out. When I reached the wall and looked down onto the causeway, I could tell that we had reached a critical moment. The gates were weakening, just as Gimli had predicted, with no diminishment in the sea of invaders, despite our best efforts. I could hear orders being given to brace the gate. Behind me, Théoden was making his way to the entrance, finally joining in the battle himself. I aimed every bolt carefully, taking the extra second to ensure the accuracy of each shot, every arrow bringing down an Uruk, trying to redeem the ones that had failed. 

Despite our efforts above the gate, the Uruks succeeded in punching a hole in the doors. Then, seemingly from nowhere, first Gimli, then Aragorn, appeared on the causeway, between the Uruks and the entrance. They fought back to back, a deadly whirl as they spun and parried, driving the Orcs back and giving the Rohirrim the opportunity to shore up the door. I cursed Aragorn roundly as I fired to defend him as best I could. He knew I had promised Arwen to protect him, yet he continued to put himself in situations where I could do little or nothing to help him. 

As I continued to provide what cover I could for Aragorn and Gimli, the Uruks fired giant crossbows and began to raise battle towers to the Hornburg walls. I spared a glance from the causeway to fire an arrow into the rope that supported one of the towers. It snapped the connection, and the tower fell back into the mass of enemy soldiers. Before I could fire again, I heard Théoden’s voice yelling to Aragorn and Gimli. “Gimli! Aragorn! Get out of there!” he ordered.

They acknowledged him, looking around for a way off the causeway. I snatched a rope lying nearby and called to Aragorn. He dispatched the Uruk that had attacked him from behind and grabbed the rope with one hand, Gimli with the other. I braced myself and began to pull, all my concentration bent on hauling my beloved and my friend to safety. Their weight on the rope came as a shock. My muscles tensed under the strain of pulling not one, but two heavily armored warriors up the wall. Inch by inch. Hand over hand. Until they were within reach, and I could pull them, instead of the rope, over the wall.

When Aragorn and Gimli were within reach, hands reached out to help them over the wall. I let the soldiers help Gimli, but I kept Aragorn’s wrist firmly clasped in my hand, trusting his safety to no one else. When he came over the wall, I steadied him against me, hand running over him swiftly to assure myself that he had survived. He clasped my shoulder as if understanding my need.

The gates shuddered below us as the battering ram finished its job, and the hinges gave way to the wave of horrible Orcs. “Fall back! Fall back!” Gamling shouted. “Retreat!”

We raced for the inner bastion as Orcs swarmed in from every side. They were the storm surge, the relentless tide that had ground rocks into sand. And they were trying to grind us into nothing. I did not see any way out of this, had not seen any way out since Aragorn had given us the count of the army that marched against us, but if I had to go to my death, I would take as many of them with me as I could. 

“Hurry! Inside! Get them inside,” Aragorn yelled. As he shepherded the remaining soldiers into the last circle of defense, I fired my remaining arrows in a futile attempt to staunch the flood. 

Chapter 105

We barred the doors behind us as we fled into the keep, grabbing tables and benches, anything we could to shore up our defenses. I wondered with sick fascination how many blows it would take for them to break through and end the Riddermark once and for all. It had still been dark outside when we retreated. I had lost my sense of time, but I hoped dawn was not far off and that Gandalf would arrive as promised. Looking at the handful of defenders left in the castle, I knew we could not survive much longer. The battering ram slammed into the door. One.

“The fortress is taken,” Théoden lamented. “It is over.” Though I agreed with his words, I was not ready to give in. If I had to die, I would go down fighting. I would take as many of them with me as I could.

Two.

Aragorn and I grabbed a bench to add to the barricade. “You said this fortress would never fall while your men defend it,” he reminded Théoden. “They still defend it.” His voice was angry as he approached Théoden, leaving me to manage the bench alone.

The doors shuddered under the weight of the battering ram. Three.

“They have died defending it!”

The soldiers threw their weight against the barricade, trying to reinforce the defenses.

“Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?” Aragorn asked Théoden and Gamling.

Four. 

I dumped the contents of a table noisily on the floor, pulling it toward the entrance to add to the pitiful barrier between us and the rampaging horde. All of our efforts would not hold them for long, but I knew one thing for certain. They would have to come through me before they would get to Aragorn. I had spent the previous night trying to figure out how to explain Aragorn’s death to Arwen. I did not want to go through that again. They would have to kill me first.

“Is there no other way?” Aragorn repeated insistently, turning his question to Gamling since Théoden seemed incapable of responding. Théoden had never impressed me much, but I wanted to shake him out of his apathy. He was King. He needed to do something.

Five. I could see the doors beginning to crack under the strain.

“There is one passage,” Gamling replied finally. “It leads into the mountains. But they will not get far. The Uruk-Hai are too many.”

Six.

Aragorn grabbed Gamling’s arm. “Send word for the women and children to make for the mountain pass and barricade the entrance!” 

Before Gamling could do as Aragorn ordered, Théoden spoke. “So much death. What can men do against such reckless hate?” I knew what Théoden should have done. He should have ridden against the army on the plains where the Rohirrim’s skill on horseback would have helped to balance their smaller numbers. Had our numbers been twice what they were, even three times, the fortress could still not have withstood for long.

Seven.

Aragorn did not answer for a moment, as if arguing with himself about what to do. “Ride out with me,” he said finally. “Ride out and meet them.”

“For death and glory,” Théoden agreed.

“For Rohan” Aragorn countered. “For your people.”

“The sun is rising,” Gimli observed, looking at the light coming through the window high in the wall of the keep. It was dawn. Dawn of the fifth day. If all had gone as planned, Gandalf would arrive at any moment. I wondered if he could arrive soon enough to save us from our fate.

“Yes. Yes!” Théoden shouted. “The Horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the deep, one last time.”

Eight.

Gimli took up the call, running through the back passages to the stairs that led to the horn.

“Let this be the hour that we draw swords together,” Théoden said to Aragorn. “Fell deeds awake.” He pulled on his helmet and drew his sword. “Now for wrath! Now for ruin, and the red dawn.”

At Aragorn’s nod, I grabbed a discarded sword and joined the remaining Rohirrim in mounting up. From above, the great horn began to sound. 

Nine. It took nine blows for the battering ram to breach our barricade.

“Forth Eorlingas!” Théoden yelled, the battle cry echoing through the hall. We charged through the castle, over the Uruks at the door, and down the hill, slashing left and right as we went, taking out our enemies, knocking them aside, running them down.

The horn sounded again behind us as we arrived at the causeway. Uruks dove to the side to escape our rush, but we were fast approaching the main army. Our momentum would not carry us far once we reached the field. I sent a desperate prayer to the Valar for Gandalf’s arrival. If he did not make it soon, he would find only corpses.

The sun crested the hill to the east, and I heard Shadowfax neigh, even over the clatter of battle. I spared only a glance in that direction, too caught up in the battle to do more, but I had seen enough. So had Aragorn.

“Gandalf.”


	22. Chapters 106-110

Elvish translations

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Fëa – soul

Chapter 106

Seeing Gandalf at the top of the hill to the east sent shivers of relief through me. When Éomer joined him and his call, “Rohirrim! To the King!” echoed even over the din of battle, the trickle of relief became a surge of hope, and victory suddenly seemed possible. The Rohirrim swept down the hill with the force of the tide. I urged Arod closer to Aragorn, more determined than ever to protect him, now that it appeared that we had a chance. My borrowed sword served its purpose, giving me the range that my knives would not have, allowing me to stop a blow intended for Aragorn’s unprotected back.

The battle did not end immediately. The Uruks formed lines to face the Horselords as they attacked from the east. Arien broke over the escarpment just as Gandalf and the Rohirrim engaged the enemy, the bright rays blinding even this new breed of Orc. The Rohirrim forced their way into the seething mass of Orcs, cutting them down with terrifying efficiency. Seeing their force unleashed, I was ever glad they fought for us, not for Sauron. They pushed their way toward us, not wanting to leave Théoden open to attack.

Finally, the Uruks began to retreat down the valley, where they had marched unimpeded mere hours before. To everyone’s surprise, a forest of trees stood on what had been barren stone. We followed the Orcs at first, driving them away from the keep and the women and children inside. I would have continued, the longing for green and growing things strong in my heart after the trial I had so recently endured. Fortunately, Éomer saw what I did not and realized that the trees, Huorns from Fangorn, were destroying the Uruks that passed under their branches.

“Stay out of the forest!” he shouted. “Keep away from the trees!”

I reached out to touch the trees with my mind and knew the wisdom of his words. The Huorns were so angry that they did not even try to distinguish friend from foe. They simply destroyed all that came within their purview. It seemed that Gandalf had, once again, been right. Fangorn had indeed awakened and rediscovered its own power. I drew a little strength from the Huorns, but I dared not draw much. Their energy was too near the surface, pulsing with their anger. If I took even what I normally would, I feared that their anger would be transmitted as well and I would lose control. Still, the simple sight of them was enough to reassure me. The very power of Arda itself was rising up against Sauron.

Théoden claimed victory, then, and led us back to the fortress. Éowyn was there to greet us, embracing her uncle and her brother, then embracing Aragorn. He returned her embrace gently before pulling away. I almost ordered him to rest. Then I realized that he was going toward our room of his own accord. As I looked around, I did not see Gimli. I went in search of him as the Rohirrim began the grisly task of disposing of the bodies of the Orcs and assembling those of their countrymen for burial. I would have to do the same for the Elves, but I wanted to find Gimli first. I located him finally sitting on the body of an Orc, pipe in hand as he savored our victory.

“Final count,” I said, examining my bow proudly. “Forty-two.” It was a good count. My only regret was that I had not brought down one more. The one whose torch caused the explosion that would have cost us the battle had Éomer not arrived when he did.

“Forty-two?” Gimli asked. “That's not bad for a pointy-eared Elvish princeling.” I bristled a little at the insult, but I understood that it was said in good fun. “I myself am sitting pretty on forty-three.”

One Orc. He had beaten me by one. The one I had failed to bring down. I noticed the slightest movement in the Uruk beneath him, probably the last of its death throes, but I fired into the carcass anyway, deliberately placing the arrow right between Gimli’s legs. 

“Forty-three,” I said with a smirk.

“He was already dead,” Gimli protested, glaring at me over the location of the arrow. Surely he knew by now that I had enough control of my aim to do what I had done. Consistently.

“He was twitching,” I disagreed, just to see what kind of reaction I could get from my friend. He did not disappoint.

“He was twitching because he's got my axe embedded in his nervous system!” Gimli shouted, jerking on the axe handle and making the Uruk twitch.

I could not help it. I had to laugh, as incongruous as that seemed on a field of battle. My mirth was short lived, however, because one of Éomer’s captains chose that moment to approach me.

“Excuse me, Prince Legolas,” the soldier said with a bow. “We know how to prepare our own dead for their final resting place, and the Orcs, we burn, but we do not know what to do with the bodies of the Elves. I did not know who else to ask.”

“You have done the right thing, coming to me,” I assured the soldier, though I wished there were a way I could avoid that responsibility. I was alive, however, through the sacrifice of the Elves that Haldir had brought from Lórien. Aragorn was alive because of their sacrifice. I would honor them the way they deserved. “I will see to them.” The soldier sketched another bow before returning to his duties.

I remained where I was, head bowed, as I contemplated the dreadful task at hand. “You cannot care for them all by yourself, lad,” Gimli said, his voice interrupting my thoughts. “Let me help you.”

I started to protest, to tell him that it was my responsibility, that he did not know the first thing about caring for Elvish dead, but the look on his face stopped me. “You will tell me what to do for them,” Gimli added, anticipating my objection, “and I will help you do it.”

I accepted his help, leading him to the broken battlements where the Elves had fought and died so bravely. We surveyed the bodies in silence, the enormity of the task settling in. These were not a few Elves we would need to prepare and bury; these were all but a few of the hundreds that had come to our aid. I did not even know where to begin. “Begin at the beginning,” Gimli murmured. “That’s what my father always said of any daunting task.”

I nodded and approached the first body. I did not have the means to clean away the blood or mud that covered the unfamiliar Elf’s face, but I wiped away what I could with my hand, closing his eyes, straightening his armor. The limbs were too stiff to straighten, but I laid the body out as best I could. When I had restored as much of his dignity as I could manage, I murmured the Elvish blessing, wishing his fëa a swift trip to the Halls of Mandos and peace once it arrived. Gimli imitated my reverent actions, but when he was done, he added his blessing in Kuzdul.

“I do not speak Elvish,” he said somewhat defensively when I looked at him in surprise, “but I will send them on with such words as are mine to give.” As odd as it seemed at first, the reassuring rumble of his words became a refrain by which I worked, a refrain that kept me sane amidst the horror and waste before us. Elrond would have approved, I decided. His blessing when we left Rivendell had encouraged us to transcend the barriers of our races. Gimli was doing just that, honoring fallen comrades-in-arms in the way that meant the most to him.

I looked up when I heard a voice calling my name. “Legolas?” an old woman asked. “Is that you?”

“I am Legolas,” I answered, “but how did you know my name, my lady?”

The woman smiled, a smile I almost recognized but could not place. “I would not have looked as I do now when you slept in Freyla’s spare room, many years ago, but you have saved my life twice now. I am Bealyn, Beata’s granddaughter. Do you remember me at all?”

I stared for a moment at the woman, searching for a hint of the toddler or her mother or grandmother in the face before me. “I remember you, but I would never have recognized you.”

She smiled again. “Of course not. Sixty years is a lifetime to a mortal.” She looked around, at the Elves we had prepared for burial and those whom we had not yet tended. “They gave all they were to save us, a tattered remnant of a once proud people.”

“They made a choice and stood by it,” I replied.

“So they did. I will be back,” she told me, hobbling away. She returned in a few minutes with a group of women. The women nodded respectfully and began to help Gimli and me prepare the fallen. “Is there anything special we should do?” Bealyn asked.

“Honor them as you would your own. That will be special enough,” I assured her. And so the Elves of Lothlórien were blessed by the rituals of Elves, Dwarves, and Men, the only company ever so honored. The numbers grew as other saw Bealyn and her friends helping us. Éowyn even joined them eventually.

I counted, at first, as we prepared the bodies for burial, separating our honored dead from the carcasses of our enemies, but I quickly forced myself to stop. I could not take their deaths on myself, not if I was to continue on the quest. I even succeeded in separating myself from the reality of what I was doing. Until I glimpsed Haldir’s red cloak among the fallen. All the Elves deserved honor, but Haldir had also been my friend. I dropped to my knees and wept.

“Díhena nin,” I cried brokenly. “I failed you all.” Years later, reborn in Valinor, Haldir assured me that none of the Elves who died that night cast any blame on me, that even had I stopped that Orc, another one might have gotten through. And even if none had, we still would have been terribly outnumbered. Any or all of them still could have died even if my shot had brought down my quarry. But that morning in Helm’s Deep, I felt every death like a wound to my soul. We could not finish burying the dead and ride out quickly enough. I had to get away from all that lifeless stone.

Aragorn joined me on the ramparts as I wept over Haldir’s prone form. “He was my friend also,” Aragorn said, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder. All the comfort and reassurance from the previous night in the little cell came flooding back at his touch. Together, we straightened Haldir’s armor, spreading his cloak around his shoulders with the regal air he had so often adopted. I closed the vacant eyes and we whispered the blessing in unison. “Hiro hyn hidh ab 'wanath.”

When all the bodies had been prepared, we contemplated the last stage of the job at hand: burying them. “You cannot dig a grave for each of them,” Éowyn told me. “If a blessing from the Rohan will suffice, a Rohirric burial mound will as well. Simbelmynë will honor their graves as it honors the graves of all our dead.”

I agreed and she went to speak with the King about a place for the mounds. When she returned, we began the final, sad undertaking, moving the dead from where they had fallen to the ground where their bodies would rest. As we carried them, one at a time, I began a lament, such as I could by myself, for those who had fallen. Then Aragorn’s voice joined mine and I was reminded, once again, that I was not alone, not the way I feared. Just as Gimli and I had stood with Aragorn the night before, he and Gimli had stood with me that morning.

When the lament was complete, the Rohirrim helped us form the mounds that sheltered the dead, five in all, until all that was left of their bodies was dust. And when, after the war, Gimli and I returned to Helm’s Deep to explore Aglarond, we found that Éowyn had kept her promise. Simbelmynë adorned the mounds tended as carefully by the Rohirrim as the mounds that held their own dead, for at least as long as Gimli lived in Aglarond.

When the dead were tended and the Orcs burned, we returned to the keep. As we walked inside, Gimli removed his helmet and I noticed blood on his face. I called immediately to Aragorn, who tended the wound with caution and care, taking him to the healers’ room. He demanded clean cloths and water, making Gimli sit on a cot so he could make sure the wound was not dangerous. “It was only a feeble blow and the cap turned it,” Gimli continued to insist. “It would take more than such an Orc-scratch to keep me down.” All the while, Aragorn continued his tending, sending me for the salve I had used just the night before on his wounds. The hands of the King are the hands of a healer. So the saying went in Gondor, though we had not yet heard it. When we finally did, it came as no surprise to me. Aragorn had healed my hand in the forest all those years ago and my heart in the darkness before battle at Helm’s Deep.

When I returned with the salve, Aragorn smeared it across Gimli’s forehead. “You are right,” he said finally, “it is just a scratch. Keep it clean and covered, and I will say nothing more of it. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Gimli replied gruffly. 

While Aragorn looked after Gimli, the Rohirrim made the keep as secure as they could. Then we took counsel together to decide what to do next. At Gandalf’s urging, we decided to take a small company and ride for Isengard. Éomer left orders with his riders to finish securing the keep and to escort the court back to Edoras. He would ride with his King. Gamling, too, accompanied Théoden as we set out for Isengard. As we departed, Gandalf drew our attention to the east, where lightning and a glow of flame lit the sky.

“Sauron's wrath will be terrible, his retribution swift,” Gandalf warned. “The battle for Helm's Deep is over. The battle for Middle-earth is about to begin. All our hopes now lie with two little hobbits, somewhere in the wilderness.”

Elvish translations

Hannon chen – thank you

Mellon nín – my friend

Nach maetolo – you’re welcome

Chapter 107

Gimli was a reassuring presence behind me on Arod as we rode toward Isengard, his hands firm at my waist, his body solid behind me. It was not the same intense reassurance I felt when Aragorn was near. In many ways, it was better. Less fraught with grief and pain.

As we rode, Gimli began telling me about the caves. “Strange are the ways of Men, Legolas!” he began, and I agreed. I could have talked for hours about the strangeness of Men, even the one I loved who was not as strange as most, but Gimli had other thoughts on his mind. “Here they have one of the marvels of the Northern World, and what do they say of it? Caves, they say! Caves! Holes to fly to in time of war, to store fodder in! My good Legolas, do you know that the caverns of Helm’s Deep are vast and beautiful? There would be an endless pilgrimage of Dwarves, merely to gaze at them, if such things were known to be. Aye indeed, they would pay pure gold for a brief glance.”

“And I would give gold to be excused,” I replied, “and double to be let out, if I strayed in!” I could not help my reaction. I understood that Gimli was trying to share something with me that was important to him, but I had had too much of stone these past few days. I needed the forest again.

“You have not seen, so I forgive your jest.” He thought I was jesting? Perhaps he did not know me as well as I thought. “But you speak like a fool. Do you think those halls are fair, where your King dwells under the hill in Mirkwood, and Dwarves helped in their making long ago? They are but hovels compared with the caverns I have seen here: immeasurable halls, filled with an everlasting music of water that tinkles into pools, as fair as Kheled-zâram in the starlight. And Legolas, when the torches are kindled and men walk on the sandy floors under the echoing domes, ah! Then, Legolas, gems and crystals and veins of precious ore glint in the polished walls; and the light glows through the folded marbles, shell-like, translucent as the living hands of Queen Galadriel. There are columns of white and saffron and dawn-rose, Legolas, fluted and twisted into dreamlike forms; they spring up from many-colored floors to meet the glistening pendants of the roof; wings, ropes, curtains fine as frozen clouds; spears, banners, pinnacles of suspended palaces! Still lakes mirror them: a glimmering world looks up from dark pools covered with clear glass; cities, such as the mind of Durin could scarce have imagined in his sleep, stretch on through avenues and pillared courts, on into the dark recesses where no light can come. And plink! a silver drop falls, and the round wrinkles in the glass make all the towers bend and waver like weeds and corals in the grotto of the sea. Then evening comes: they fade and twinkle out; the torches pass into another chamber and another dream. There is chamber after chamber, Legolas; hall opening out of the hall, dome after dome, stair beyond stair; and still the winding paths lead on into the mountains’ heart. Caves! The Caverns of Helm’s Deep! Happy was the chance that drove me there! It makes me weep to leave them.”

I had never heard such a spate of passionate words from Gimli before then. We had talked, certainly, even at length, but our conversations in Moria had been born of necessity, and in Lórien, they had been tentative, as we learned how to be friends. None of them even began to approach this intensity.

“Then I will wish you this fortune for your comfort, Gimli, that you may come safe from war and return to see them again. But do not tell all your kindred! There seems little left for them to do, from your account. Maybe the Men of this land are wise to say little; one family of busy Dwarves with hammer and chisel might mar more than they made.” My comment was made in ignorance, in stereotypes based on stories told of the greed of Dwarves.

“No, you do not understand,” Gimli insisted. “No Dwarf could be unmoved by such loveliness. None of Durin’s race would mine those caves for stones or ore, not if diamonds and gold could be got there. Do you cut down groves of blossoming trees in the springtime for firewood? We would tend these glades of flowering stone, not quarry them. With cautious skill, tap by tap – a small chip of rock and no more, perhaps, in a whole anxious day – so we would work, and as the years went by, we would open up new ways, and display far chambers that are still dark, glimpsed only as a void beyond fissures in the rock. And lights, Legolas! We should make lights, such lamps as once shone in Khazad-dûm; and when we wished, we would drive away the night that has lain there since the hills were made; and when we desired rest, we would let the night return.”

“You move me, Gimli,” I told him softly, tears burning in my eyes at the beauty he had evoked with his words. Even I, who feared being surrounded by stone for reasons that had only to do with me, was touched by what he was describing. “I have never heard you speak like this before. Almost you make me regret that I have not seen these caves. Come! Let us make a bargain – if we both return safe out of the perils that await us, we will journey for a while together. You shall visit Fangorn with me, and then I will come with you to see Helm’s Deep.”

“That would not be the way of return that I should choose. But I will endure Fangorn, if I have your promise to come back to the caves and share their wonder with me.”

“You have my promise,” I answered. It was a tribute to our friendship, that I offered and that he accepted, each of us choosing to go with the other where we would never willingly go alone.

When we made camp that night, Aragorn sat for a long time with Gandalf and Théoden. I let him, choosing to wander the edges of our camp, tentatively drawing strength from the trees that surrounded us. These trees were calmer than the Huorns at Helm’s Deep, but not calm. I had to concentrate to control what I took from them, not wanting to disrupt my hard-won serenity. I refused to feel guilty about the hours I had spent in Aragorn’s arms. He had offered himself willingly, just as I had done in Lórien, and he had seemingly done so with Arwen’s blessing, though how that would be possible is still beyond me. The effects of those hours together lingered still. They had carried me through the battle, through facing the very real possibility of Aragorn’s death, and my own, several times, through burying my fellow Elves and Haldir, my friend. I was trying to strengthen those effects even more with power from the trees, but I did not want to disrupt the delicate equilibrium I had attained. I did not see Aragorn offering to restore me a second time.

“What are you doing, skulking around the edge of the camp? You’re not about to go wandering into the woods, are you? I don’t want to have to come looking for you.” Gimli’s words startled me, shattering the concentration that I needed to maintain a safe link to these trees, and it took all my control not to draw too much too suddenly from the trees. When I had broken the connection that allowed me the contact I needed, I faced Gimli, debating what I should, what I could tell him. Only my father knew what lengths I still had to go to to keep from fading from my broken heart. Did I trust Gimli with the knowledge? I realized, to my surprise, that I did.

“The trees strengthen me,” I told him. “When I have not the will to do what needs to be done, I can draw energy from them and use it to replenish my own.”

“Why do you need them?” Gimli asked. He was more astute than I had hoped he would be. I had hoped he would simply accept my explanation without looking for deeper reasons.

I did not reply for a long time, arguing about the wisdom of revealing so much of myself. To tell him, even without mentioning names, was to make myself incredibly vulnerable to him. “Fine,” Gimli muttered. “Keep your secrets.”

“To hold together my broken heart,” I blurted out. My secret was less important than our friendship.

Gimli turned back to me in surprise. “I thought that Elves…” he trailed off.

“Die of a broken heart?” I finished. “Many do. I would have if it had not been for the trees. I still could if I ever lose the will to draw from them when I need it. Or if I am too long away from them.”

“In Moria,” Gimli said.

“Aye, in Moria. Or in Helm’s Deep.” I was telling him more, I realized, than I had ever told Aragorn. Than I had ever told anyone besides my father.

“The Ring wanted you to give in to your despair.”

That or take what I desired from Aragorn, though I had no right to it. I did not say that aloud. I was not ready to tell Gimli the whole sad story. I just nodded instead.

“That was why Aragorn had to bind your hands? To keep you from hurting yourself?” He seemed incredulous.

“I know how strange it sounds in the light of day,” I replied. “ It seems strange to me as well when I am strong, but in the darkness, away from the trees, I lost hope. The Ring taunted me with all that I had lost, and I began to fade. If it ever reaches the point where I cannot stop the fading, I will take my life rather than slowly waste away to nothing. I have always known that, though I do not want to die. The Ring played to that fear, that insecurity, making fading seem inevitable. It was safer to bind my hands so I could not hurt myself, no matter what the Ring said.” I did not address the other temptation of the Ring. Or Helm’s Deep. And Gimli did not ask. At least in Moria I could blame my state on the Ring. At Helm’s Deep, it was purely the thought of having lost Aragorn that finished shattering my already fragile heart.

“I had not realized how bad it was.”

“No one does except my father and now you. Even Aragorn does not know. And he must not, Gimli. He needs to focus on what lies ahead, not worry constantly about me.” I did not want Aragorn figuring out what had caused my state. He had made his choice. I had no more claim on his heart.

“I will say nothing,” Gimli promised, “as long as you tell me if it gets bad again. We need you on this quest.”

“I will be glad to have someone watching out for me,” I said with a smile, “but discreetly, my friend.”

“Dwarves know how to keep secrets.” Gimli assured me.

I laughed. “That is why I had Aragorn wake you in Moria. I knew you would not tell the others.”

Gimli chuckled and drew me back to the fire. He lit his pipe and we settled companionably together, waiting to see what news, if any, Aragorn would bring.

Aragorn did join us eventually, though he said nothing of what they had discussed in council. Nor did we ask. He would tell us if there was anything we needed to know. Aragorn accepted some pipeweed from Gimli and the three of us sat in comfortable silence until Gimli finally fell asleep. Aragorn fell silent then, fingering the Evenstar once more in pride of place around his neck. “Do you know why I told her to leave?” he asked me softly in Elvish.

I did not know, and I told him so.

“After the council, Elrond spoke to me. He begged me to let her go, to let her take the ships to Valinor, where, he said, her love would be ever green. I challenged that, Green, perhaps, but never more than a memory. She will die if she stays. Elrond reminded me of that, and in a moment of weakness, I let that sway me. I tried to give this back to her, tried to reject the gift she gave me years ago. I don’t doubt her love, her fidelity. I doubt my own ability to be worthy of her. I would rather have her leave than disappoint her.”

“The only way you could ever disappoint her is if you stopped loving her.”

“Never,” Aragorn vowed. “I could never stop loving her.”

“Then you will never disappoint her,” I assured him.

“And if she does as I asked? If she takes the ship?”

“I do not believe she will. But if she does,” I said, raising a hand to stave off his interruption, “if she does, I will stand by you, just as I promised in Lórien. I will not leave these shores while you live. You will not be alone. Unless you want to be.”

“Hannon chen, mellon nín.”

“Nach maetolo,” I replied. I had made enough rash promises in my life to consider this one before I made it. Arwen was not leaving. No matter what Aragorn feared, she was not going to abandon him. My promise stood, regardless of her choice. I would not sail for Valinor until Aragorn died. I would stand beside him, beside them, and support them for as long as they lived. I knew what this promise would cost me. I would watch them marry, have children, grow old together, and die. And each moment of their happiness would be salt in the wounds of my heart. It did not matter. Aragorn needed the reassurance that my promise could give him. I gave it willingly, even knowing the cost. It would be worth the pain to share those special moments with the ones I loved.

Chapter

We rode all day the next day until we reached Isengard, late in the day. We passed the great pillar of the Hand, symbol of Saruman’s authority. It had always been white, but that day, as we passed, it was stained red, as if with blood. Gandalf rode by without even pausing and we followed, reluctantly. All around us, wide pools of water covered the land beside the road, as if there had been a sudden flood, yet it had not rained since the night at Helm’s Deep, two days earlier. The water should have gone down already. As we came to the doors of Isengard, we saw what had become of Saruman’s domain. In place of the gardens that had once grown there, in place of the pits and forges that Saruman had installed was a lake filled with steaming water, and all around the destruction was complete. If the sea itself had risen up in all its fury, it could not have done more damage to Isengard than had already been done.

We stared around us in fear and awe, wondering what force could have wrought this devastation, when we heard laughter and a familiar voice. “Welcome my lords, to Isengard,” Merry greeted us, with an attempt at a bow as he gestured in the general direction of Orthanc.

Behind me, Gimli began to sputter. “You young rascals! A merry hunt you've led us on, and now we find you feasting and, and smoking!” I did not say anything, too relieved to see the Hobbits safe to speak. Gandalf had told us that they were safe in Fangorn, but we had not seen them. I had not realized just how much I needed that reassurance until I saw them.

“We are sitting on a field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts,” Pippin informed us proudly. “The salted pork is particularly good.”

“Salted pork?” Gimli asked, sounding tempted.

“Hobbits,” Gandalf muttered, disgusted, as if he were not completely aware of the vagaries and preferences of the little folk.

“We're under orders from Treebeard who has taken over management of Isengard,” Merry retorted, more than a little tipsy. I wondered who exactly Treebeard was, but Gandalf seemed satisfied with the answer.

Gandalf and Théoden decided then to ride through Isengard to where Treebeard might be found, but Aragorn, Gimli, and I elected to stay and speak with our friends. When Gandalf and Théoden had ridden on, we joined the Hobbits on their perch.

“Well, well! The hunt is over, and we meet again at last, where none of us ever thought to come,” Aragorn said as we made ourselves comfortable.

“And now that the great ones have gone to discuss high matters,” I added, “the hunters can perhaps learn the answers to their own small riddles. We tracked you as far as the forest, but there are still many things that I should like to know the truth of.”

Before the Hobbits could tell their tale, Gimli stopped them. “It would go better after a meal. I have a sore head; and it is past mid-day. You truants might make amends by finding us some of the plunder that you spoke of. Food and drink would pay off some of my score against you.” 

So the Hobbits led us to the guardhouse that contained a storeroom and provisions for a meal. Or several. They settled us at the table and bustled around, gathering food for us to eat. “Will you have wine or beer?” Merry offered. Aragorn and Gimli opted for beer, but I chose the wine. As we ate, we talked of the days spent apart. Merry and Pippin told us of their escape from the Uruks and of their time with the Ents. As they talked, we heard some of our guesses confirmed and other tales that had not even occurred to us. We restored their treasures to them, the Elven daggers that Galadriel had given them and the brooch that Pippin had dropped to alert us to their presence. Then they came to the telling of the taking of Isengard and we listened in amazement as they explained how the Ents had stormed the walls of Isengard, releasing the river and ending Saruman’s military might. They had nothing but contempt for Saruman and his power, an attitude which Aragorn hastened to correct.

“Once he was as great as his fame made him. His knowledge was deep, his thought was subtle, and his hands marvelously skilled; and he had a power over the minds of others. The wise he could persuade, and the smaller folk he could daunt. That power he certainly still keeps. There are not many in Middle-Earth that I should say were safe, if they were left alone to talk with him, even now when he has suffered a defeat. Gandalf, Elrond, and Galadriel, perhaps, now that his wickedness has been laid bare, but very few others,” Aragorn cautioned. I took his words to heart. I had heard all of it before, but I had not then understood how easily words can sway the heart. The Ring had taught me that in Moria. I would be on my guard when we dealt with Saruman. I doubted he would turn his attention to me, for I was not to be counted among the great like Gandalf, Théoden, or even Aragorn, but I would take no chances. 

We joined Gandalf and Théoden, then. Aragorn pulled Pippin up behind him on Brego, and Éomer did the same to Merry so that we were all on horseback, better able to navigate the waters that still inundated Isengard. We made our way slowly to where Treebeard was waiting.

“Hm, young Master Gandalf, I'm glad you've come,” Treebeard said. I marveled that any creature could be so old as to consider an Istari young. “Wood and water, stock and stone I can master. But there is a wizard to manage here -- locked in his tower.”

“There Saurman must remain, under your guard, Treebeard,” Gandalf said.

“Well, let's just have his head and be done with it,” Gimli suggested.

“No, he has no more power anymore, but I must speak with him before we go,” Gandalf replied. “Beware of his voice!”

“Saruman!” Gandalf called. “Saruman, come forth!”

It was a long time before we heard an answer, and then it was Gríma, not Saruman who spoke. Gandalf, too, recognized it and sent Gríma to fetch Saruman. Before long another voice spoke, low and melodious, a tempting voice. An enchanting voice. He spoke of Gandalf, but spoke to Théoden, offering peace with Isengard, praising, seducing with his voice, trying to turn Théoden away from us and toward Sauron. The voice was not directed toward me, but I could see how it affected those who were listening. Théoden seemed torn between Gandalf and Saruman. Of the Rohirrim with us, only Éomer seemed unaffected by Saruman’s words. He spoke against Saruman to his uncle, reminding Théoden of Théodred’s death, and Háma’s.

“We will have peace,” Théoden said at last. “Yes, we will have peace when you and all your works have perished – and the works of your dark master to whom you would deliver us. You are a liar, Saruman, and a corrupter of men’s hearts. You hold out your hand to me, and I perceive only a finger of the claw of Mordor. Turn elsewhere. For I fear your voice has lost its charm!”

Finally, after all we had been through, I saw the King that Théoden had once been. Saruman reacted badly, heaping insults on the head of the king, before turning his attention to Gandalf. Gandalf tried to tell Saruman that he had no wish to harm him, that he was willing, even, to let him go free if he would surrender the Key of Orthanc and his staff. Saruman refused, of course, so caught in the web of Sauron’s lies that he could not even see the generosity of Gandalf’s offer. 

“Stay then!” Gandalf replied to the insults Saruman heaped upon his head. “But I warn you, you will not easily come out again. Not unless the dark hands of the East stretch out and take you. Saruman! I cast you from the order and from the Council. Your staff is broken, and your power with it.” At his words, the staff in Saruman’s hand split asunder and the head of it fell at Gandalf’s feet. 

Gandalf turned to leave when two things happened in quick succession. First, up in the tower, Gríma broke. Perhaps from fear, perhaps from guilt, or for some other reason known only to him, he stabbed Saruman and pushed him from the balcony. Then he threw something out the window at us. It missed us, but I was not taking any chances that the next object might be better aimed. From the height where he stood, even an otherwise harmless object could injure or even kill one of us. I drew and fired, ending the life of the treacherous snake.

“The filth of Saruman is washing away,” Treebeard said when we turned from the tower. “Trees will come back to live here, young trees, wild trees.”

As he spoke, Pippin slid down from his place behind Aragorn to see what Gríma had thrown down at us. “Pippin!” Aragorn called after him warningly, but Pippin did not listen, bending to pull a glass sphere from the water.

“Bless my bark!” Treebeard exclaimed when Pippin raised it up for all to see.

“Peregrin Took, I’ll take that, my lad,” Gandalf said in a stern voice. Pippin looked at him, but did not immediately obey. “Quickly now,” Gandalf continued. Reluctantly, Pippin handed the ball over to Gandalf who wrapped it in his cloak. It took me a moment to realize what it was and why Gandalf was being so careful. Gríma had thrown out a palantír, one of the seven Seeing Stones that Elendil brought to Arda, which allowed those versed in their lore to communicate across great distances. I had thought them lost, but it appeared that one, at least, had survived. I wondered what one would see through the crystal, but I knew better than to ask. Such things were best left to the wise.

Chapter 109

We stayed the night outside of Isengard, not bothering with a watch. Treebeard had assured us that the Ents would keep us safe overnight. Ents. I had heard of them, of course, and had known that they were real, but I had never seen one before that day. They were magical to me, more amazing and wonderful than anything I had seen in a long time. I had often talked to trees, but the contact had always been nebulous. Even with the trees in Mirkwood, my conversations were more feelings than anything else. With the Ents, I could have a true conversation. When all had calmed and we had time, I sought out Treebeard to talk.

Gandalf had introduced us all to Treebeard earlier, but it had gone no further. When he saw me approaching, Treebeard looked at me long and searchingly. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me that way. “So you have come all the way from Mirkwood, my good Elf?” he asked me. “A very great forest that used to be.”

“And still is,” I replied. It was a great forest still, though the Shadow had encroached on it. I had to keep believing that we would reclaim it one day. Perhaps even one day soon if this quest was successful. “But not so great that we who dwell there ever tire of seeing new trees. I should dearly love to journey in Fangorn’s Wood. I scarcely passed beyond the eaves of it, and I did not wish to turn back.”

Treebeard’s eyes gleamed with pleasure at my words. “I hope you may have your wish, ere the hills be much older,” he told me.

“I will come, if I have the fortune. I have made a bargain with my friend that, if all goes well, we will visit Fangorn together – by your leave.” I did not mention which friend had made this bargain. I was not sure how Treebeard would react to having a Dwarf in his woods.

“Any Elf that comes with you will be welcome,” Treebeard answered. That was not the response I wanted. He had specified any Elf. I wanted to bring a Dwarf with me.

“The friend I speak of is not an Elf,” I told him. “I mean Gimli, Glóin’s son here.” I gestured to Gimli who was sitting with Aragorn and the Hobbits, pipe in hand, axe clearly visible at his belt.

“Hoom, hm! Ah, now,” Treebeard stalled. “A Dwarf and an axe-bearer! Hoom! I have good will to Elves; but you ask much. This is a strange friendship!” 

I smiled at the comment. It was a strange friendship. Gimli and I should have had nothing in common, nothing to talk about, and at first we did not. I was beginning to be able to smile at those first tentative conversations we had in Moria when he explained to me about stone and I to him about trees. “Strange it may seem,” I agreed, “but while Gimli lives, I shall not come to Fangorn alone. His axe is not for trees, but for Orc necks, O Fangorn, Master of Fangorn’s Wood. Forty-three he hewed in the battle.”

That seemed to impress Treebeard. “Come now! That is a better story! Well, well, things will go as they will; and there is no need to hurry to meet them.” We sat together a while longer and I told him about the battle at Helm’s Deep. I do not doubt that he read deeper into my heart than what he heard in my words alone. As my tale grew near to the end, and I spoke of my loss and having to bury my friends, Treebeard gave me a compassionate smile. “When the war is over, if all goes well, come walk in my woods,” Treebeard told me. “Bring your friend, for he seems to bring you comfort, and you will find solace among my trees. Do what you have to do, Legolas of Mirkwood, but do not wait too long to come to us. We will talk more then.”

I knew a dismissal when I heard one, and Treebeard certainly had much to do since Isengard had become his responsibility. I thanked him for his time and his consideration. He repeated the invitation and left me to my thoughts. I eventually drifted into reverie, the transition so smooth that I did not even realize it until Gimli shook me awake the next morning, announcing that we rode for Edoras with all haste. At the time, I was surprised to be awakened, surprised that I had slept so deeply. I understand now, in a way I did not then, that having finally escaped Helm’s Deep, being surrounded again by green and growing things, and most importantly, having confided in Gimli had allowed me to relax, to be at peace in a way I had not felt since my father had sent me to Rivendell to begin our quest. 

Chapter 110

The ride to Edoras was long and hard, with pauses only to rest and water the horses. Théoden wanted to be in Edoras before nightfall, and he set the pace accordingly. We thundered across the plains of Rohan and I marveled at how different this passage was from the one only a week before when we had first followed Gandalf to Edoras. Merry and Pippin were not just safe, but restored to us, their ever-present smiles and laughter a wondrous change after the death and destruction at Helm’s Deep. They seemed unharmed, physically or mentally, by their time in the hands of the Uruk-Hai. Their resiliency amazed me. Then and for as long as I knew them. Hobbits really are amazing creatures. Their survival gave me hope for Frodo and Sam. Sam, especially, was so practical, so in touch with reality. I hoped he would keep Frodo grounded, would help him resist the lure of the Ring. Aragorn believed that Hobbits had a natural resistance to the Ring, and perhaps they did, but I knew, far too well, the seductive power the Ring could bring to bear. Whatever Frodo’s weakness, the Ring would try to exploit it. I prayed to the Valar that Sam would help him overcome the temptation, whatever form it took. I shared my thoughts with Gimli during a pause to water the horses. Gimli’s assessment matched mine. “You told me that a heart full of love could better resist the Ring. Never had I seen a servant so devoted to his master. If any can resist, it will be Sam. And he will give his life before he allows any to harm his Mister Frodo. We must believe that, or all that we do is in vain.”

Gimli was right. I knew that the battles we were fighting were not the real ones. Gandalf had said it himself. All our hopes lay with Frodo and Sam, slowly making their way toward Mordor and Mount Doom. Our role was simple, really. Distract all who would interfere with that. And, hopefully, preserve something for a time after this threat. We had succeeded in preserving Rohan. I wondered where the next stroke would fall. Gandalf seemed to think it would not take long, but he had given no hint, at least in my hearing, as to where it would come. We would just have to be prepared for any eventuality.

Arien had already begun its descent when we reached the walls of Edoras. Little had changed in the week we had been gone, but three flags fluttered now in the wind that blew across the plains, new flags, untattered, unblemished, so very different from the one that fell at Aragorn’s feet when we first arrived. If the torn flag had symbolized the weakness in Rohan, or at least in Edoras, when we arrived the first time, I hoped that the flags that flew upon our second arrival were an indication of the newfound strength of the Rohirrim. They had survived Helm’s Deep, with help from the Elves, but essentially because of the arrival of Éomer and his Rohirrim. Éomer’s banishment had ended, his favor firmly restored, and he rode proudly beside his King. The strength of Men had not failed at Helm’s Deep, and I could only see it increasing as we moved forward, drawing others to the banner that had not yet been raised but would be, I was sure. Men would make their stand against Sauron, and in doing so, I hoped, give our Ringbearer the time and space he needed to do his job as well.

Éowyn stood on the terrace as well as we rode into the city. I wondered if Aragorn had seen her standing there, watching for our return. He had given her no overt encouragement since his return to Helm’s Deep, but I could not help wondering if she had been discouraged by his actions. He had told me only the night before that he would never stop loving Arwen, and I believed him, but I knew my beloved after all these years. His doubts would never completely cease until Arwen stood beside him again, bound to him not just by her private promise, but also by the laws and customs of both their races. And in the meantime, Éowyn was close at hand, eager to attract Aragorn’s regard. Many years later, when I was neither jealous nor scared of her, I could admit that she was a lovely woman and that the one who had her love was lucky indeed to have her, but that day, and for many days to come, I was too worried about the havoc she might wreak to value her beauty or her worth the way she deserved.

We settled the horses in their stables and the soldiers with us returned to their barracks or their homes, but not for long. A feast had been planned for that evening, and we were all expected to attend. Éowyn showed us to the rooms she had arranged for us, guest rooms this time since our arrival was expected. I entered mine willingly, looking forward to the prospect of a bath, a real bath and not just the rinsing off with a damp cloth that I had been doing. I knew there was no time to linger in the bath as the feast would begin shortly, but the hot water was tempting. As I sank into it, the scent of jasmine assailed my nostrils and I was catapulted back into memory, to the days when Arwen and I were lovers and my most pressing concern was when I could visit her again. It had not been an ideal time, by any stretch of the imagination, but it had, in its own way, been a happy time. No one had questioned our being lovers. No one had tried to separate us or discourage us. We had spent our time together however we had pleased, with none to gainsay us so long as we did not speak of a time beyond that moment.

I closed my eyes as I bathed, imagining that a different pair of hands held the cloth, that another passed the soap across my chest, down my legs, between them. I could not even begin to count the number of times we had ended our day that way, cuddled together in a warm tub, the necessity of bathing a prelude to the urgency of loving. The poignancy of loving. For although we did not think, in those days, of a time when we would no longer be lovers, we always knew that our time together would be limited, that my duties would call me back home sooner than either of us would have preferred. My father spared me as often as he could, knowing that seeing her periodically was as necessary to my well-being as the food that I ate, but that was never often enough to truly satisfy me, and until she met Aragorn, I had to believe she felt the same. To do otherwise would have led to even more grief than I had already experienced.

As I relaxed in the tub, gently caressing my own skin in pale imitation of the caresses that Arwen had so generously bestowed on me during our times together, my thoughts drifted idly to Aragorn. Particularly to the conversation that had led to our joining before the battle at Helm’s Deep. He had known, from Arwen, of my state of mind. I had wondered, then, I wondered in Edoras, and I wonder now in Valinor, how she had known of my state of mind. How had she known I was in danger? As I lay in the tub, I pondered whether she could read my emotions across the distance as most Elves could with their mates. From my conversation with Aragorn, I was quite sure that she could read his emotions, his condition, but I still did not understand how she could have been aware of mine. Was it the intensity of my emotions the night I thought I had lost Aragorn forever? Or was it that I was thinking so vividly of her? Or something else entirely? If it was the intensity of my emotions, I was safe for the moment. My memories were strong, but they were not turbulent. If anything, they comforted me, to know that I had once had such an assured place in her life. If it was because of my vivid thoughts, she might have been able to read me as I sat there remembering the past. I wondered if she would send Aragorn to me again, or if she would be able to distinguish the different tone and know that I was safe. And if it was something else, entirely, then what? What could possibly have allowed her to know my thoughts clearly enough to warn Aragorn? I did not know, and I still do not, though I am thankful that she did.

A maidservant came, interrupting my bath and my thoughts, asking if I needed a clean shirt or anything else before the feast. I declined, pulling myself from the tub and beginning the rest of my preparations. I had the light shirt I had worn in Lórien, and while it was a little wrinkled, it was clean and it was Elvish. I had often found that the cut of Men’s clothing did not sit right on my leaner frame. I knocked the muck from my boots as best I could, cleaning them and my leggings, trying to make myself presentable. We had been given little detail about the feast, but I expected it to be a feast to honor those who had died. I did not have the finery I would have worn to such a feast at home, but I would honor them as I had done since they had fallen. As best I could.


	23. Chapters 111-115

Chapter 111

The ways of Men have ever been odd to me, but never quite so much as that night. Perhaps it was knowing that time would not rob us of the experiences of our lives. Perhaps it was the rarity of death among the Elves except in times of war. Perhaps it was the relatively low numbers of births that made us feel each death more keenly. Whatever the reason, Elves did not combine the mourning of their dead with a celebration of victory. We did both, but not together. And so, while I stood easily among the soldiers and the court as we gathered to remember the dead, the rest of the evening was not so easy.

We began the feast assembled in rows, cups in hand to raise our voices and our memories to our fallen friends. Théoden stood before his throne, flanked by Éomer and Éowyn, all that was left of the royal family. With great reverence and respect, Théoden raised his cup and spoke into the silence that had engulfed the hall. “Tonight we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country. Hail the victorious dead!” he said firmly. Gravely. I had found little enough to respect about Théoden since we discovered him a week earlier deep in Saruman’s sway, but I approved of the manner in which he saluted the dead. I raised my glass willingly with the gathered crowd as they replied to his call. “Hail!” we said as one voice. If I drank with less enthusiasm than those around me, it was because I was not used to the wine in Rohan, not because I felt less strongly about the sacrifice of those who had given their lives so that we could stand again in Meduseld.

The feast that followed began the way I expected as well. We moved to our seats at the tables in the hall, eating and remembering the fallen. As the feast continued, though, the tone changed. It was not obvious, at first, but the conversation gradually shifted from the somber remembrance of the dead to something more… energetic. By the time the meal was over, the mood had become positively jovial, something that seemed most strange to me when we were supposed to be honoring the dead. 

Still, I stayed, not wanting to slight my hosts by leaving too soon or by refusing to participate. I hovered at the edge of the hall, trying to decide how long I had to stay before I could slip away and finish my mourning alone. As I stood there, Éowyn approached Aragorn, goblet in hand. This was a side of the White Lady that I had not seen before. Gone was the sword, and with it the defensive attitude. She was a petitioner approaching her lord, seeking his favor. “Carefully,” I wanted to say to Aragorn. Just the day before he had sworn to me that he would never stop loving Arwen, but Éowyn did not know this. She was still vying for his attention, as if she could ever compete with Arwen. Éowyn was lovely in her own way, but a fire burned in Arwen’s soul that Éowyn could never match. I knew it, and I was fairly sure Aragorn did as well. I wanted to intervene, to tell her to forget about Aragorn and find someone of her own, but it was not my place to speak. She handed him the goblet, almost ceremonially. “Westu Aragorn hál!” she told him. I did not understand the words, but there was clearly some significance to her actions. He took the proffered goblet and drank, a kind, perhaps even tender look on his face. I worried about that, but he walked away, leaving her with the goblet in hand.

Théoden approached his niece as Aragorn walked away. “I am happy for you. He is an honorable man.” I started at Théoden’s words. Not because he said that Aragorn was an honorable man. I could not argue with that. No, I worried about Théoden’s first comment. Had there been more to the exchange between Aragorn and Éowyn than I had realized? Maybe even more than he had realized? I hoped not. Aragorn had enough to worry about without being torn between two women.

“You are both honorable men,” Éowyn replied.

“It was not Théoden of Rohan who led our people to victory,” the King replied. I was glad to see that he was aware of Aragorn’s leadership. A shout on the other side of the hall drew my attention and I moved in that direction, wondering what new oddity I would see.

The new oddity turned out to be Merry and Pippin dancing on a table and singing as loudly as they could of the inn near their home. As they danced, Merry knocked one man’s drink over, which resulted in a shout from the man, but did not slow Merry and Pippin at all. They continued on, unfazed.

Gandalf and Aragorn stood, as I did, to one side, watching the merriment that had taken the place of the seriousness that had begun the evening.

“No news of Frodo?” Aragorn asked.

“No word,” Gandalf replied. “Nothing.”

“We have time. Every day Frodo moves closer to Mordor,” Aragorn assured him

“Do we know that?” Gandalf questioned.

“What does your heart tell you?” Aragorn replied.

There was a long pause before Gandalf answered. “That Frodo is alive.” Another pause. “Yes. Yes, he’s alive.”

I trusted Gandalf’s judgment. If he thought that Frodo was still making progress, still struggling on our quest, then we could do the same. Gimli drew my attention, then, gesturing for me to join him on the other side of the room. As I approached, I heard those around him shout, “Hail!” again as they raised their mugs and emptied them.

“What is going on?” I asked Gimli as another round of shouts and drinking went on around us.

“A little game,” Gimli answered as he emptied his mug.

“So it is a drinking game?” I asked, trying to understand what was taking place as yet the soldiers let out yet another shout. “And what exactly is the point of it?”

“Last one standing wins,” Gimli said with a grin, handing me a mug of ale. I had never liked ale. But I had never tried it in Rohan and Gimli was looking at me expectantly. I raised the mug slowly to my lips, telling myself that I would do this, would participate in this strange game that made no sense to me, because my friend asked it of me. I suppressed a grimace as the bitter flavor exploded on my tongue. No, I did not like ale, but I finished the mug quickly so it would be done. That seemed to be an invitation to give me another. I stayed for a few rounds, but I forfeited the game as soon as I could without disgracing myself. Another time, with another drink, I might have been competition for these soldiers and my friend, but that night, I was not in the mood for their companionship or their games. I retreated to the room I had been assigned, but that was not where I wanted to be either. I gathered my cloak and, wrapping it around me, went outside to ponder the oddity of Men.

Chapter 112

I was still shaking my head in bewilderment at the odd, at least to me, turn the evening had taken when I reached the porch outside Meduseld. My thoughts wandered to the different times and different reactions to the differences between Elves and Men. Before coming to Rohan the first time, Aragorn was the only Man I had spent any extended time with. Though he was often Elvish in his attitudes, especially at the time, I had learned to appreciate the physical differences while falling in love with him. Though the sensation of his beard against my lips had surprised me the first time we kissed, and though it never became less arousing than that first time, the novelty of it wore off quickly. The same was true of the light dusting of hair that covered much of his body, the heavier frame, the bulkier muscles. They quickly became marks of his individuality in my mind rather than differences between our races. It was the differences in attitudes, in customs, that I had always found so difficult to understand. They had buried hundreds of their comrades-in-arms not two days past. They were holding a feast to honor those comrades, and they were inside playing a drinking game that had no other point than to see who could consume the most ale without passing out. There was a discrepancy in my mind between those two events. It was not the drinking game itself that bothered me, though I would have probably found it odd under any circumstances. No, it was that the amusement seemed at odds with the occasion. Many years later, Aragorn tried to explain it to me, telling me that they felt the need to prove to themselves alive, to laugh in the face of death, and celebrate their survival. That the best way, for them, to mourn those killed in battle was to live their lives to the fullest in gratitude. It still makes no sense to me, but I accepted long ago that Men would probably never make sense to me.

My musings were gradually interrupted by a growing sense of dread. When it finally penetrated my distraction, I focused outward, searching for an explanation. My eyes were drawn east, toward Mordor, where I knew the Dark Lord was preparing for the next attempt to overrun Arda. Overhead, Ithil shone clearly. Behind me, to the west, the stars twinkled on the horizon, but to the east, all was darkness. I stretched my senses, trying to determine if a more concrete threat approached. I could sense no movement on the plains, but I could feel Sauron seeking. For what, I did not know. As I continued to search as well, I raised the hood of my cloak, hoping that the magic of the Elvish material would hide me from Sauron’s gaze. I had no desire to match wills directly with the Lord of Mordor.

I cannot say how long I stood there before Aragorn came onto the porch, pipe in hand. I did not turn until he stood beside me. “The stars are veiled. Something stirs in the east, a sleepless malice,” I told him even as I felt the change again. “The eye of the enemy is moving.”

“What does it mean?” Aragorn asked.

“I do not know, but he is searching for something. Or someone. Saruman was his puppet. It could be that he knew of Saruman’s plan to capture the Hobbits and the Ring and so searches for them. It could be that he searches for news of Saruman’s attack on Helm’s Deep and the fate of Rohan. It could be that he searches for the heir of Isildur. He will fight with everything he has to stop you from uniting the world of Men under one banner. Gandalf was right. He fears you and the influence you could wield if you take the throne that is your right.

“I do not…”

“…want it. Aye, I know that, but I also know that you may not have any choice. Not if we have any hope of standing against Sauron. Rohan cannot do it alone. Gondor cannot do it alone. The Elves cannot do it alone. But Rohan will follow you, after Helm’s Deep. Gondor will follow its King. The Elves will stand with Estel. You, and you alone, can unite…”

Before I could finish, I felt the eye shift in the east, coming to focus squarely on Meduseld. “He is here,” I said as shouts for help came from inside. It was Merry’s voice, frantically calling for Gandalf, for anyone to help. We rushed inside, into the room where Gandalf and the Hobbits were sleeping.

“Help him!” Merry cried again. In Pippin’s hand, I saw the palantír, and in the palantír, I saw fire. The eye of the enemy. Aragorn grabbed the palantír from Pippin’s hands, rescuing Pippin from the evil gaze only to fall prey to it himself. He struggled with it, falling to his knees. I grabbed his shoulders, supporting him. He let out a terrible cry and collapsed against me, the palantír rolling across the room. I was peripherally aware of Gandalf covering it with a cloth, of Merry rushing to Pippin’s side, but my only concern was Aragorn.

“Fool of a Took!” I heard Gandalf mutter as he approached Pippin who lay, unmoving, on the floor. Aragorn stirred in my arms, trying to sit up. I helped him and we watched in silence as Gandalf tried to draw Pippin back and learn what he had seen.

“Gandalf,” Pippin cried when some awareness returned. “Forgive me!”

“Look at me,” Gandalf ordered. “What did you see?”

“Ah... a tree,” Pippin stuttered. “There was a white tree, in a courtyard of stone. It was dead!” I met Aragorn’s eyes. Though I had never been to Minas Tirith, I knew what Pippin was describing. Gondor.

“The city was burning,” Pippin said, his voice troubled

“Minas Tirith. Is that what you saw?” Gandalf asked. I was not sure how he expected the poor Hobbit to know if it was Minas Tirith. He had never been there, after all.

“I saw...” Pippin trailed off as tears overwhelmed him for a moment. “I saw him! I could hear his voice in my head.”

“What did you tell him?” Gandalf asked. When Pippin did not respond quickly enough, he ordered. “Speak!”

“He asked me my name. I didn't answer. He hurt me.”

“What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?” 

“Nothing,” Pippin stuttered, quailing under the intensity of Gandalf’s gaze. He released Pippin’s face and turned to look at Aragorn and me. I could read a painful blend of worry and relief on his face as he sighed and waited for Pippin to recover enough strength to stand. 

“We must speak with the King,” Gandalf said. 

I nodded. “Shall I have someone summon him?

“Yes,” Gandalf answered, “and try to find Gimli and Éomer as well.” I agreed and went to do as Gandalf bid.

Chapter 113

When all eight of us had gathered in the hall, Pippin slumped on a stool with Merry beside him, the rest of us around the fireplace, Gandalf began to explain what had happened. He explained what the palantír was and how Pippin had picked it up and used it inadvertently.

Théoden’s face was impassive as he listened to Gandalf’s explanation. I couldn’t help but wonder what he thought of our young friends. Certainly Pippin was impulsive, often to the point of recklessness, but he was not malicious. Just young. I hoped Théoden would not discount the role the Hobbits had already played and could still play in our efforts because of one misjudgment on Pippin’s part. For I already knew that underneath the playfulness and innocence, there were hearts as pure as freshly fallen snow and as strong as mithril. Given the proper chance, they would prove their worth.

“There was no lie in Pippin's eyes,” Gandalf told Théoden. “A fool, but an honest fool he remains. He told Sauron nothing of Frodo and the Ring.”

That was the biggest relief of all. Battles we could and would fight. And maybe even win. But it would all be for naught if Sauron captured Frodo and reclaimed the Ring.

“We've been strangely fortunate,” Gandalf continued. “Pippin saw in the palantír a glimpse of the enemy's plan. Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith. His defeat at Helm's Deep showed our enemy one thing. He knows the heir of Elendil has come forth.”

I watched Aragorn as Gandalf spoke, looking for a sign of his thoughts as Gandalf proclaimed him openly for the first time outside of Rivendell, where the power of Vilya protected him. I worried about him, about how he would react to such a bold statement, even if it was true. Was Aragorn finally willing to accept his place in Arda? Had my words, or someone’s, finally gotten through to him? He gave no overt sign of any reaction, standing stoically, waiting for Gandalf to conclude.

“Men are not as weak as he supposed,” Gandalf went on. “There is courage still, strength enough, perhaps to challenge him. Sauron fears this. He will not risk the peoples of Middle Earth uniting under one banner. He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a king return to the throne of Men. If the beacons of Rohan are lit, Rohan must be ready for war.” I knew what loyalty Gandalf was trying to evoke. Rohan and Gondor had been allies for generations, each pledging to support the other in time of need. The ties were old and strong, though not as strong as they had been. Rohan had faced Saruman alone, though I did not know why, and that stung Théoden’s pride.

Théoden seemed to be asking himself the same questions. “Tell me,” he said, disgust written clearly on his face, “why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours? What do we owe Gondor?”

Théoden knew the answer to his own question, knew of the vows his forebears had made to Gondor, knew that Rohan existed because of Gondor’s aid, but he was a proud man, and apparently was unwilling to overlook the slight.

“I will go,” Aragorn said, clearly annoyed at Théoden. The return of the King. Was this how it was to happen? As a messenger accompanied only by an Elf and a Dwarf? I did not even have to look at Gimli to know that he would agree with me. Where Aragorn went, we went as well. It did not seem grand enough of an entrance, but I did not move to stop him. He had to do what he felt was right. We would support that, whatever he decided.

Gandalf, however, did stop him. “No,” he said firmly.

“They must be warned,” Aragorn insisted.

“They will be,” Gandalf assured him, coming to stand at his side and to add softly, “You must come to Minas Tirith by another road. Follow the river. Look to the black ships.”

Gandalf’s words made no sense to me. There was no other road from Edoras to Minas Tirith. Unless… I did not even want to think it.

“Understand this,” Gandalf said to everyone. “Things are now in motion that cannot be undone. I ride for Minas Tirith. And I won't be going alone.”

He gathered Pippin up in his wake as he strode to the stables, without the palantír, I noticed. Aragorn let them go, and I chose to stay with him rather than follow Gandalf. I was still concerned about him. He had shown little emotion at all since recovering from grabbing the palantír. We knew what Pippin had seen and had said. Aragorn had not held the sphere long enough to speak, but I began to wonder what he had seen that made him so silent. Could he have seen our downfall, our defeat? I did not think so. The palantír allowed the one controlling it to see other places but not, at least as far as I knew, other times. Sauron was powerful, but I did not think he could change the nature of the stones. That meant that whatever Aragorn saw, the only lie could be in the interpretation or in the limits of what he had seen. The size of Sauron’s army? Perhaps, but we knew the numbers would be immense. A confirmation of that was hardly necessary. We knew we were outnumbered, but that had not stopped us yet. At least we had gained allies. When we left Rivendell, we were nine against the forces of Mordor. The addition of the Rohirrim to our numbers was a considerable gain. Was that the reason for Aragorn’s silence? Fear that Théoden would refuse the summons? He was a proud man, but surely he would not abandon the alliance with Gondor, would not abandon them to Sauron when it would mean his own country’s doom as well. I would make him see it. At the point of a sword, if I had to, I decided. Or was it something else that haunted Aragorn? Had Sauron identified his deepest fears, of losing Arwen and of succumbing to the Ring, and played somehow upon them? But what could he have shown Aragorn that existed at that moment that would have increased those fears? I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the pointless questions.

Chapter 114

It would take Gandalf three days to reach Gondor if they encountered no delays along the way. Shadowfax could carry them that far, that quickly, and would not willingly let harm befall them, but everything was still uncertain. When he arrived in Minas Tirith, I knew Gandalf would try to persuade Lord Denethor of the seriousness of the situation and to convince him to light the beacons to call for Rohan’s aid. I knew Gandalf would try, but I did not know if he would succeed. I had never met Lord Denethor, and I never did, but I had heard tales of him. I knew a little of the situation in Gondor from Boromir’s words, and I could guess more from what he did not say. I doubted that Denethor would be overjoyed at the possibility of Aragorn’s ascent to the throne. Although Boromir had changed his mind, swearing fealty to Aragorn at the last, he had not started with that attitude. “Gondor needs no King,” he had told Aragorn bluntly at the Council. He had learned that attitude somewhere and Denethor seemed the most likely source. We were all enemies of the one Enemy, yet between Denethor’s probable attitude toward Aragorn, and Théoden’s wounded pride, I wondered if we would realistically be able to form the alliance that would be needed to stop Sauron this time, or at least, to hold him off long enough for Frodo to fulfill his mission.

Aragorn had taken up position on the watchtower from where the last beacon could be seen. I joined him there, not speaking, just letting my presence support him. If the beacons were lit, we would have to decide what to do, but for the moment, all we could do was wait. When I first joined Aragorn on the tower, Arien was high overhead, beating down with surprising intensity given that it was still only early in March. The thought crossed my mind that Aragorn’s birthday had passed us by unnoticed. Of course, I awoke the morning of his birthday believing him dead, and when he returned alive, we had ten thousand Orcs to worry about, so it was no real surprise that I did not think of the date nor that he did not mention it. There would have been no way to celebrate it anyway, at Helm’s Deep, even without the Uruks approaching.

Aragorn shifted on the tower beside me. He was weary, still, I could tell, though the cuts and bruises were beginning to heal. I wanted to tell him to go, to return to his room and take the rest he so clearly needed, but I did not speak. He would not have appreciated my interference.

Though the silence between us was comfortable, I could feel the tension beginning to mount in the city as the day wore on. News of the impending ride to war was spreading, even if Théoden had not said that Rohan would go if called. Voices that had, only the previous day, been lifted in celebration were hushed again in contemplation of a new threat.

The sounds of metal clanging against metal scraped across my nerves as Arien traced its path across the sky, sinking slowly toward the horizon to our right. I recognized the sounds of blacksmiths and farriers, and I knew their work was vital if the call to war went out, but as the day wore one, the incessant, repetitious, grating sounds became almost too much for nerves stretched tight already by the hours of keeping watch for a signal that had not come, might never come.

When Arien touched the horizon, Ithil was a sliver overhead. Gimli came out with bowls of stew, better than Éowyn’s offering on the road, and joined us. Ithil was only a few days into its cycle, providing only a hint of light. The stars shone faintly overhead as well, though they were veiled again in the east. The only real light, such as it was, came from the brazier that one of the soldiers had brought to provide some heat against the still chilly nights. We wrapped our cloaks about us and sat as the stars wheeled overhead. Menelvagor, the Hunter, appeared on the horizon first, rotating slowly as the night wore on, giving way to Remmirath and Valacirca which spun around the North Star. I wanted to seek my bed, to rest, but I did not. While Aragorn stood watch, so would I. He dozed during our vigil, nodding off into sleep only to jerk upright again. I moved closer to him finally, muttering imprecations about the stubbornness of Men as I did.

“Lean on me, and get some rest at least. I can watch for a while,” I instructed. He looked at me, surprised, but eventually did as I suggested, his head coming to rest on my shoulder. I shifted a little so that it settled securely in the hollow between shoulder joint and chest bone. His trust in me humbled me beyond anything I had experienced since he first trusted me with himself sixty-seven… no, sixty-eight years before. I yearned to brush my lips across his dark hair, to cradle him to me as I had done all those years ago. But the trust that had allowed me those liberties when he was twenty forbade me from taking them there on the watchtower in Edoras. Gimli had nodded off some time before Aragorn did, and so I passed the darkest hours of the night alone, with only the spinning heavens, Gimli’s snores, and the weight of Aragorn’s head for company. Gimli stirred in the hour before dawn, coming awake slowly. When he sat up, I motioned for him to stay quiet. Aragorn slept still, and I did not want to disturb him. Gimli took one look at the Man held loosely in my arms and nodded his agreement. We would watch in silence until Aragorn awoke.

My sense of time told me that Arien should have risen already, but there was no sign of dawn on the horizon. Not until several hours later, when it finally appeared out of the darkness in the east. The sense of unease in the town grew with the preternatural darkness. They were finally coming to understand what a defeat would mean to any who survived. If any did. We were not just fighting Orcs and Uruks, goblins and trolls. We were fighting Sauron, servant of Melkor, the Necromancer, the Dark Lord who commanded powers we could not begin to imagine. We would go to war, Aragorn, Gimli and I, when called, and I hoped the Rohirrim would ride with us, for they were able warriors, but the battle would not be decided by armies, however powerful. The fate of us all would be decided by the strength, determination, and luck of two little Hobbits on their way to Mordor. If they succeeded, our numbers would be needed only to hold our cities safe until all was done. If they failed, we would sacrifice our lives to give others the time to escape, though I knew not to where.

Aragorn finally stirred and consented to leave the tower to eat and bathe, but only if Gimli and I would stay on watch until he returned. We agreed and sent him off to tend to his needs. “He needs to rest,” I told Gimli as soon as Aragorn was out of earshot. “Really rest, not doze for a few hours on my shoulder. He will do us no good in battle if he cannot keep his eyes open.”

“He has more strength than we know, lad,” Gimli answered, “and whatever demons haunt him, they do not let him rest, even in sleep. Nor do yours, I imagine. How fare you, Legolas, in a city once more? Is your strength holding up?”

“For now,” I replied. “Edoras is not the forest, but neither is it Helm’s Deep. There is light here, and grass enough not to leech my strength the way cold stone does.”

“Good,” Gimli said gruffly. “Good.”

We kept watch until Arien reached its zenith again, finally illuminating the darkness in the east, and Aragorn returned. I had been there for the full cycle of a day. It was Aragorn’s turn to send me inside. I did as he bid, eating and bathing, but when I lay down to rest, I could find no peace. The room I had been given was more comfortable than the tiny chamber at Helm’s Deep, but it was still enclosed. I rose and returned to the watchtower. I could lean against a post and drift into reverie if it became necessary. Aragorn and Gimli seemed surprised to see me again so soon, but I brushed aside their concerns, promising them that I was well. The noise of the preparations for war had returned, and so reverie eluded me. Instead, I focused outward on the world outside Edoras.

As Arien began its descent again for the second time since Gandalf had ridden for Gondor, the shadow reformed to our left, blocking the light of Ithil’s rising. Gimli went inside for a time returning again with food for supper. I was grateful he was thinking of such practicalities, for I was not, too worried about the growing darkness to think of such ordinary things.

Again that night, we watched through dusk and darkness, until Ithil set in the west and the stars completed their circuit. Morning came with the same lingering darkness, Arien becoming visible only after it had surpassed the line of shadow that covered Mordor, even at Arien’s height that day. Sauron was massing his power, waiting for the moment to attack.

The third day passed as the first and the second had, voices becoming even more hushed as the sounds of the forge became more dissonant. When Aragorn insisted I take a break from the watch, I took our weapons to be honed and gathered new arrows to fill the quiver that I had emptied at Helm’s Deep, but I did not linger long away from the watch. Gandalf would be reaching Gondor at any moment, if all had gone well. The beacons would be lit soon, if they were going to be lit at all. As darkness fell again, I felt the tension mounting. I could not explain it, but I knew something was happening. Or was about to happen. Then, in the east, a column of light shot skyward, eerie green against the inky blackness that hid the stars. I know, standing here in Valinor, that I could not have possibly heard the shriek of the Witchking as he left his lair in Minas Morgul that night, but I felt the terror that accompanied the Black Breath as I watched that column of unnatural light. The feeling of fear did not leave me that night, though I fought to reject it, to keep hope alive. When it became difficult, I tore my eyes away from the spectacle and focused on Aragorn’s face. Elrond had named him Estel when he took him in, and he represented hope for all of Middle Earth, and for me in particular. As long as I could see him and know that he was alive, I would not despair, not in the face of any enemy.

Arien rose again, but still the signal did not come. I began to worry that Gandalf had not reached Gondor or that Denethor had refused to listen to his counsel. I knew that it would take time for the beacons to be lit all the way across Gondor and into Rohan, but I wanted the one we could see to catch fire. The whole city was on edge, waiting, waiting, interminably for the stroke to fall, for the call to come so a decision could be made.

There.

Just above the horizon.

A flicker of light.

The beacons were lit. Aragorn saw it at the same time I did, dropping his bowl and running for Meduseld, taking the steps two at a time in his haste to reach the King. I followed as quickly as I could.

“The beacons of Minas Tirith! The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid,” he shouted breathlessly.

Silence.

Chapter 115

I stepped into Meduseld, waiting for the King’s answer, wondering if I could say anything to influence the decision. All eyes were on the King, Éowyn coming to stand beside her brother. “And Rohan will answer,” Théoden declared when he finally spoke. “Muster the Rohirrim.”

At Théoden’s words, the tension that had held the city in its grip for over three days broke. Soldiers sprang into action, their training giving them purpose once the order had been given. Outside, I heard a bell tolling, signaling the decision and all that it entailed.

“Assemble the army at Dunharrow,” Théoden told his nephew and heir, “as many men as can be found. You have two days.’ Éomer took his orders and started out. Théoden stopped him. “On the third day, we ride for Gondor… and war.”

Éomer nodded again and strode down into the city where already soldiers were gathering their gear.

“Gamling,” Théoden called. The soldier appeared at his side. “Make haste across the Riddermark. Summon every able-bodied man to Dunharrow.” Gamling nodded and went to carry out his orders. Aragorn and I moved to do likewise, to make our own preparations for war when Merry appeared on the steps before us. He drew the dagger of the Noldorin that Galadriel had given him and knelt before Théoden, taking his hand and kissing it. “May I lay the sword of Meriadoc of the Shire at your service, Théoden King?” he cried. “Receive my service if you will!”

“Gladly will I take it. Rise now, Meriadoc, esquire of Rohan of the household of Meduseld! Take your sword and bear it unto good fortune.”

“As a father you shall be to me.”

“For a little while,” Théoden agreed. His words seemed strange to me, but it was not my place to comment on it.

I was surprised at Merry’s actions, but at the same time, I understood. Pippin had left with Gandalf. Aragorn, Gimli and I had formed a solid bond as we hunted for the Hobbits and then fought together at Helm’s Deep. Merry was feeling lost and alone. By swearing to Théoden, he had again a place in the order of things and a role to play in the war, a role that, in the end, helped save us all.

With Merry’s oath offered and accepted, we moved to make our final preparations. We returned to our rooms, gathering weapons and gear, carrying them to the stable, tying things to saddles, tacking the horses. Merry, too, was given a mount, a hardy hill pony named Stybba. As we prepared to mount and ride out, I saw Éowyn readying her horse as well. That was unexpected, but I did not know well the ways of the Rohirrim, and I accepted it as normal. Aragorn, however, knew better. “You ride with us?” he asked.

“Just to the encampment. It is tradition for the women of the court to farewell the men,” she replied. Aragorn lifted the edge of her blanket to find her sword hidden beneath. He said nothing, but I could not help but think of her plea to fight alongside us at Helm’s Deep. Was this another attempt to join the fighting? An attempt to get and stay close to Aragorn? Or something else? I did not know at the time, but I eventually discovered that it was a combination of all three.

“The men have found their captain,” she told Aragorn, as I had found mine. “They will follow you into battle, even to death. You have given us hope.” Once again, the wisdom of Elrond’s choice of name for his foster-son struck me. He had given himself to the Rohirrim as captain at Helm’s Deep and, at the time, we fully expected that to continue through the battles in Gondor, though, in the end, our path led us to Gondor by a different road. Even then, they followed him. To Mordor and back.

The call came to mount and ride, Éomer moving through the ranks to the head of the column. “Now is the hour,” he shouted to his men, “Riders of Rohan! Oaths you have taken, now fulfill them all, to Lord and land!” And with a shout, he led the column out of Edoras.

This trip out of Edoras was vastly different than the last. We were a company of soldiers, not a band of refugees. Even Éowyn and the other women who went with us were mounted on swift steeds. We rode hard and fast that day, making a cold, dark camp late into the night.

I helped Gimli down from Arod when we finally stopped. He had not once complained during the long ride, understanding its necessity, but Dwarf bodies were not made for riding, and I knew he would be stiff from the long hours spent on horseback.

All around us, the Rohirrim were setting up camp, pitching tents to protect them from the cold winds that whipped through the Riddermark still in early March. They had provided us with tents as well. I never traveled with such luxuries, except on the rare occasions when I traveled with my father. I was a hunter, light on my feet, with no more burden than my weapons, food, and a bedroll. Gimli was the same way. Aragorn had ridden with the Rohirrim before, though, and knew their ways so Gimli and I followed his lead, pitching a tent of our own. Though he did not say anything, I suspect that Gimli appreciated the extra protection from the elements. With Arien set and the wind cold out of the mountains, the temperature was dropping rapidly, and we dared not light even a brazier for warmth lest we give away our position and our movements to anyone who might be watching.

When his own tent, as befitted a Lord of Gondor, was set up, Aragorn joined Gimli and me in the tent we had decided to share for simplicity’s sake.

“We will reach Dunharrow tomorrow,” Aragorn said. “If all goes well, the muster will bring enough men to defeat Sauron’s army.”

“And if all does not go well?” Gimli asked.

“Let us not borrow trouble,” Aragorn replied, evading the question. I wondered if Aragorn had considered his options – all his options. Gandalf had said that Aragorn needed to come to Minas Tirith by a different road. At the time, I had thought he meant simply that Aragorn should not come to Gondor as a messenger, but there on the way to Dunharrow, I began to wonder at other paths. Gandalf had also told Aragorn to follow the river and to look to the black ships. If I remembered my father’s maps correctly, our road to Minas Tirith would take us nowhere near the river. We were on our way to Dunharrow, and I knew the legends of the army that lay beneath the Dimholt, waylaying all who tried to pass until such time as they fulfilled their oaths to a King of Gondor. Aragorn bore no crown, claimed no throne, but he was a descendent of that bloodline and wore the proof of it on his right hand. He must have reclaimed the ring of Barahir from Arwen at some point, for it once again graced his hand, not hers. Would that be enough to prove himself if he chose the cursed path? I hoped so, because for all others, that way was death.

Their conversation swirled around me as I sat there, lost in my thoughts. What would it take for Aragorn to be able to muster the power of the Dimholt? Was the symbol of his house enough? Would a decision to claim his birthright suffice? Or did he actually have to be accepted by the citizens of Gondor as their King before he could safely walk that road? I did not know. If the muster of Rohan did not yield the numbers we needed, I hoped it would be one of the former options, for there was no time to ride to Gondor and then back if it took a crown to prove his identity. And all those questions presumed that Aragorn was willing to take that road, with all the risks it entailed.

Finally, Aragorn left to return to his own tent. I gave him an absent smile as he left. “What is on your mind, lad?” Gimli asked when Aragorn was gone. “Not starting to fade, are you?”

“Nay, Gimli,” I assured him. “I was just thinking. We should get some rest. Tomorrow will be much like today. And the day after, we ride for war.”

Gimli agreed, and we settled in to sleep. 

As I had predicted, the next morning saw the beginning of another ride, one that took us to Dunharrow early in the afternoon.

Gamling met us at the encampment, sending the soldiers to make camp and guiding Théoden through the gathered army. As he went, captains greeted him, calling out tallies. Five hundred from the Westfold, three hundred from Fenmarch, none from Snowbourne. The count went on until we reached the path to the high encampment where the court would gather. We set up camp quickly, raising tents and lighting fires.

I noticed Aragorn and Théoden in conference, overlooking the encampment.

“Six thousand spears,” I heard Théoden say. “Less than half of what I’d hoped.”

“Six thousand will not be enough to break the lines of Mordor,” Aragorn answered.

“More will come,” Théoden insisted, ever optimistic.

“Every hour lost hastens Gondor’s defeat. We have until dawn,” Aragorn declared. “Then we must ride.” Ride, as always, outnumbered against an army bent not merely on our defeat but on our utter obliteration.

The sound of a horse neighing distracted me. A Rider tried to calm the panicked animal, to no avail. “The horses are restless and the men are quiet,” I observed to Éomer as he approached.

“They grow nervous near the shadow of the mountain,” Éomer replied.

“That road there,” Gimli asked, pointing to the road that led deep into the mountains, “where does it lead?”

“It is the road to the Dimholt, the door under the mountain,” I replied. I knew that road, knew all about its history and about the dead who lay in wait along it. What I did not know, then, was that our path would lead us down it.

“None who venture there ever return. That mountain is evil,” Éomer exclaimed. As he spoke, Aragorn moved to stare down the road, his expression fixed, as if he could see something the rest of us could not. I worried about that, wondering if he was being tempted to his death on that path as Isildur had been tempted to his death by the Ring.

“Aragorn!” Gimli called, breaking the spell the road seemed to cast on Aragorn. He turned to look at Gimli, a startled look on his face. “Let’s find some food,” Gimli suggested. I smiled. How like a Dwarf! At least, though, he had drawn Aragorn’s attention away from the Dimholt.

We found places around a fire and shared, for a time, in the food and camaraderie there. I kept a close eye on Aragorn as we ate, concerned about the hold the Dimholt road seemed to exert on Aragorn. Aragorn did not linger, though, retiring early to his tent. I did the same, not completely comfortable with Men. Though Freyla and the farm folk had accepted Aragorn and me willingly enough, I remember too well the reactions of the villagers and the innkeeper to us. I had never been at ease since then when Men outnumbered Elves among my companions.


	24. Chapters 116-120

Chapter 116

I knew I would not sleep so close to the mountain of the Dead, but I forced myself to rest, knowing that the next day we would ride long and hard for Gondor and face battle at the end of it. As I lay there, I stretched out my senses, taking comfort in the night sounds of the amassing army. The murmur of voices, the sounds of men shifting on their cots, the nickering of the horses as they settled for the night. Then a different sound reached my ears. Steady hoof beats climbing the path from the lower encampment to the upper. I rose from my bed and went to investigate. A cloaked figure dismounted and entered Théoden’s tent. I could not tell who was beneath the cloak, but I knew, from the graceful movements, that it hid an Elf. I remained where I was, waiting to see what happened next.

In a few moments, Théoden came to the door of the tent and sent a guard to summon Aragorn. That was enough for me. Whatever was about to happen involved Aragorn, and that meant it concerned me, whether they meant to include me or not. I moved close enough to the tent that I would be able to hear what transpired inside.

The guard returned a few minutes later, Aragorn in tow. Almost immediately, I heard Théoden’s voice. “I take my leave.” The tent flap opened, and he left Aragorn alone with the Elf inside.

There was a long pause, then I heard Aragorn’s voice. “My lord Elrond,” he said, awe and surprise lacing his voice. I seconded those emotions. What in Arda was Elrond doing here, in the camp of the Rohirrim, alone? What could possibly have possessed him to come?

No sooner had I asked myself the question than he gave me the answer. “I come on behalf of one I love. Arwen is dying.” I felt his words like a sword in the heart. She could not be dying! I knew she would eventually, but it was supposed to be Aragorn’s death that triggered her own, yet he was alive and well. What had gone wrong? “She will not long survive the evil that now spreads from Mordor. The light of the Evenstar is failing. As Sauron’s power grows, her strength wanes.”

I thought of how my father had strengthened me during my nights of despair. I wished in that moment that I had his ability to cast my thoughts to the minds of others. I wanted to reach for Arwen, to enclose her mind with my warmth, my strength, as she had so often enclosed my body in hers. I wanted to reassure her, restore her, but we had never formed the bond that would have allowed me that link. I could not reach her to offer a comfort she probably would not have accepted anyway. It was not my strength, my comfort, my love that she needed. It was Aragorn’s. And though she had found a way to touch his mind, I did not know if he could touch hers.

“Arwen’s life is now tied to the fate of the Ring. A shadow is upon us, Aragorn,” Elrond warned. “The end is come.”

“It will not be our end, but his,” Aragorn insisted. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to have faith that we could somehow prevail, that we could find the strength to save all that was good in Arda.

“You ride to war, but not to victory,” Elrond disagreed. “Sauron’s armies march on Minas Tirith, as you know, but in secret, he sends another force, which will attack from the river. A fleet of Corsair ships sails from the south.” That was what Gandalf had meant when he told Aragorn to follow the river and look to the black ships, I realized. The Corsairs had to be stopped, but to arrive in time, we would have to take the dark road. “They will be in the city in two days. You are outnumbered, Aragorn. You need more men.”

I agreed completely, but knew too well the truth of the situation. “There are none,” Aragorn told him.

“There are those who dwell in the mountain,” Elrond said, hesitation, almost fear, in his voice.

“Murderers,” Aragorn spat, “traitors. You would call upon them to fight? They believe in nothing. They answer to no one.”

“They will answer to the King of Gondor!” Elrond insisted. They would answer to the King of Gondor if, after three thousand years, they were tired of having no rest, if Aragorn could convince him that he was the future King, if being the future King was enough. That would mean setting aside the doubts that had plagued him, for the Dead would see through any lie.

“Andúril,” Elrond intoned, “flame of the West, forged from the shards of Narsil.” I knew Elrond was offering the blade to Aragorn, as he had offered many times to have it reforged, for only Aragorn could wield it with authority. That explained why he had come. Take it, meleth, I begged him silently. Take it and give us all hope once more.

“Sauron will not have forgotten the sword of Elendil,” Aragorn said softly. Take it, I thought again. Then I heard the hissing of a sword leaving its sheath. I held my breath. “The blade that was broken shall return to Minas Tirith.” I rejoiced at those words. If he was taking up the sword, he was taking up the mantle of his heritage. At long last, he was accepting his birthright.

“The man who wields the power of this sword can summon to him an army more deadly than any that walks this earth. This is your test. Every path you have trod through wilderness, through war, has led to this road. Put aside the Ranger. Become who you were born to be. Take the Dimholt road,” Elrond urged.

There was a pause, then Elrond spoke into the silence. “Ómen i-Estel Edain.”

“Ú-chebin Estel a nin,” Aragorn replied. The exchange was too automatic to be spontaneous, though I did not catch the reference. When I asked Aragorn about it, many years later, he explained to me that his mother had said those words, “I gave hope to Men. I have kept no hope for myself,” when she delivered Aragorn into Elrond’s hands at the age of two. It was from them that Elrond took his name.

I slipped away from the tent as I heard Aragorn start to leave. I had to find Gimli so we could gather our things before Aragorn started down his chosen path. If he slipped away ahead of us, we would not be able to pass under the mountain. At the same time, we could not let him know we were going with him lest he try even harder to sneak away unseen. 

Fortunately, Gimli was right where I left him, smoking outside our tent. “Get your gear,” I told him softly. “Aragorn rides alone for Minas Tirith.”

“Alone?” Gimli repeated.

“Aye, if we do not hurry.”

Gimli grabbed his bedroll and swung it over his shoulder. “Lead the way.”

It was a measure of his devotion to Aragorn that he did not question the road we would take or the reasons for it. If Aragorn was going, Gimli was going with him. I had felt that way for years, though I had denied it for a time, but it was striking to see the same feelings in another who had none of the history that Aragorn and I shared. Aragorn inspired that devotion in many before the end.

We saddled Arod and approached the head of the road where we could see Aragorn preparing Brego. Before we could approach him, Éowyn came to his side. “Why are you doing this? The war lies to the east. You cannot leave on the eve of battle. You cannot abandon the men,” she chided.

“Éowyn,” he sighed.

“We need you here,” she insisted.

“Why have you come?” he asked.

“Do you not know?” she challenged, desperation on her face and in her voice.

“It is but a shadow and a thought that you love,” he said bluntly. “I cannot give you what you seek.”

I saw her struggle with tears as she turned away. I pitied her even as I understood her breaking heart. Neither of us was any competition for the light of the Evenstar, even if it was failing.

Gimli stepped forward so that Aragorn had to pass him to go down the road he was preparing to take. “Where do you think you’re off to?” he asked.

“Not this time,” Aragorn said. “This time you will stay, Gimli.”

I stepped out from behind the tent, Arod’s reins in my hand. “Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of Dwarves?” I asked with a smile.

“You might as well accept it,” Gimli told him. “We’re going with you, laddie.”

Aragorn stared for a moment, then mounted and looked back at us as if to say, “What are you waiting for?” We mounted quickly and followed him down the road that would lead either to doom or salvation.

Chapter 117

The road became more and more desolate as we went deeper into the mountains. At Dunharrow, even in the upper encampment, there were trees to offer shade and firewood. As we took the Dimholt road, though, the trees thinned, then disappeared entirely. We rode carefully through what remained of the night and the beginning of day.

“What kind of army would linger in such a place?” Gimli finally asked. Aragorn had explained that much as we were riding out, but not the exact nature of the army we were seeking to recruit.

“One that it cursed,” I answered. “Long ago the Men of the mountain swore an oath to the last King of Gondor to come to his aid, to fight. But when the time came, when Gondor’s need was dire, they fled, vanishing into the darkness of the mountain. And so Isildur cursed them, never to rest until they had fulfilled their pledge.”

As we drew nearer the Dimholt, the horses began to shy and sidestep. We dismounted and led them forward until we were having to urge them to take every step. Finally, we approached the door itself, decorated with skulls and with signs.

“The very warmth of my blood seems stolen away,” Gimli muttered.

I examined the signs as we neared. “The way is shut,” I read. “It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut.”

A gust of wind blew then from inside the mountain, carrying the echo of ghostly voices. It was too much for the horses, who jerked their reins from our grasps and fled. I hoped the Rohirrim had ridden as planned so they would not see Arod and Brego return riderless. Our leaving was enough of a blow to their confidence. What they would see as proof of our deaths would be perhaps too much for them to bear.

“Brego!” Aragorn called in vain. I did not bother calling for Arod. Not even Elvish magic would persuade them to go inside.

Aragorn turned back and faced the door, resolve coalescing on his face. “I do not fear death,” he said finally, plunging into the darkness.

I watched my beloved disappear into the cave and knew that I, too, did not fear death. What could death take from me that life had not already stolen away? I followed him into the darkness. I did not wait for Gimli, trusting in our continuing rivalry to force him to follow us.

We navigated the dark tunnels with only a torch to guide us. It reminded me of Moria, but there would be no pauses in the Dimholt. We would run until we encountered the army, at which point we would recruit them or we would die. Aragorn moved swiftly, never pausing at the side tunnels or chambers that held the treasure of the Men of the mountain. We were not there for treasure; we came to demand the fulfillment of an oath. Finally we came out into a giant underground hall. It had not the splendor of Dwarrowdelf in Moria or of the halls that Gimli later founded in Aglarond, but it was still impressive. For a moment, the hall stood empty but for the three of us. Then a spectral form materialized in front of us, crown on his brow. The King of the Dead.

“Who enters my domain?” he challenged.

“One who would have your allegiance,” Aragorn replied. I watched the exchange carefully. This had to go well or all would fail.

“The dead do not suffer the living to pass,” he told us direfully.

“You will suffer me,” Aragorn retorted.

The Dead King laughed, horrible, hideous cackles as the dead city appeared out of the darkness, bleeding dead soldiers who gathered around us. I watched them a little nervously, wondering if we could really do this.

“The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it.” As the King spoke, more soldiers appeared, surrounding us completely.

“The way is shut,” the Dead King intoned. “Now you must die.”

Not while I live! I thought, grabbing an arrow and firing. The arrow passed through the King’s head and clattered on the floor behind him. It left a ragged hole in his specter that closed as soon as the arrow passed. He took a step forward.

“I summon you to fulfill your oath,” Aragorn declared. Our lives, the fulfillment of the quest, everything rested on how the King would answer.

“None but the King of Gondor may command me,” the Dead King replied, swinging his sword at Aragorn. Aragorn drew Andúril in a flash and parried the blow, stopping the ghostly sword and grabbing the King by the throat.

“That blade was broken!” the King protested.

“It has been remade,” Aragorn informed him, Andúril held tightly to the King’s throat. He shoved the King back and challenged him again. “Fight for us and regain your honor. What say you?” He passed through the dead soldiers, challenging them with stare and sword, and I had to let him go alone.

“What say you?” he demanded.

“You waste your time, Aragorn,” Gimli said. “They had no honor in life; they have none now in death.”

Aragorn did not reply to Gimli’s claim, circling, showing Andúril as he did. “I am Isildur’s heir. Fight for me, and I will hold your oath’s fulfilled!” In that moment, I realized exactly who I had followed into the mountain. I had followed my lover, I had followed my friend, but I finally understood that I had also followed my King. “What say you?” Aragorn shouted one last time.

A path appeared through the soldiers, heading to the far end of the hall. We started warily down the aisle they had created for us, waiting for the stroke that could come at any moment. We reached the passageway that led out of the mountain and the attack did not come.

We continued down the passageway and the attack did not come. I risked a glance behind us. The army of the Dead was following.

“Make haste,” I urged Aragorn. “The Dead follow.” It was weeks still before Aragorn was finally crowned, but he claimed the throne of Gondor, there, under the mountain, before the army of the Dead. Boromir’s dying words came back to me as we led the army of the Dead out of the mountain over the hills of Erech. “I would have followed you, my brother, my captain, my king.” Aragorn had been many things to me –. friend and lover first, then, when we met each other again for the quest, I called him brother. At Helm’s Deep, he became my captain. On the Paths of the Dead, he became my King.

Chapter 118

We passed the stone of Erech, down the mountains past Tarlang’s Neck into Lamedon until we came to Calembel upon Ciril and from there to Pelargir upon Anduin where the fleet of Corsairs waited for the sign to begin their assault. We traveled through the night and the next day, reaching Pelargir with the dawn that never came. And in the darkness of Mordor, my hope rose, for in the gloom the Shadow Host seemed to grow stronger and more terrible to look upon. They were silent, but there was a gleam in their eyes. Almost before we could draw our weapons, the Dead swarmed over the ships, killing those not driven by fear to flee and giving the ships into our command. With wraiths of fear and darkness, usually the weapons of Mordor, on our side, we overthrew Sauron’s plans. Gandalf had said that Sauron feared Aragorn, and I began to see why. In that moment, I looked at Aragorn and saw how great and terrible a Lord he might have become had he taken the Ring for himself. But Aragorn was stronger than that, able to resist the lure that had felled so many others. And that made him even more to be feared.

As we prepared to sail, I heard a sound that haunted my mind and heart until the day I left Arda: the wailing of the gulls that set the sea longing in my heart. I resisted, bound by an oath that nothing could entice me to break. Though my heart longed for the sea, I would not leave Arda while Aragorn lived.

We sailed upriver as quickly as the wind would carry us, sure that the dawnless day was a sign that things went ill in Gondor. Fortunately, the wind was brisk and the ships went swiftly, bringing us in time to the quays of Osgiliath. I wished, as we approached, that we had some way of alerting our friends to our identity, for I knew that the sight of the Corsairs’ ships would dishearten them, but we had no banner to display, and so our arrival heartened our enemies, not our friends.

A contingent of Orcs met our ships at the wharf. “Late as usual, pirate scum!” the particularly hideous commander accused as we arrived. “There’s knife work here that needs doing. Come on, you sea rats! Get off your ships!”

I met Aragorn’s and Gimli’s eyes, where we had secreted ourselves near the side of the ship. We were not pirate scum and our arrival would not aid the Orcs, but if they really wanted us off the ship, we would oblige them. At Aragorn’s nod, we leapt to the shore, Aragorn first, Gimli and me right behind. I could see that our presence was unexpected, but when they saw only the three of us, their faces turned jeering. “There are plenty for both of us,” Gimli said as we prepared to attack. “May the best Dwarf win!” That was too much. Gimli had killed more Orcs than I had at Helm’s Deep. I was not about to let him win on Pelennor Fields. Aragorn charged, and Gimli and I followed him into the fray, the army of the Dead sweeping off the ships and over the water to join us in engaging the Orcs. The quarters were too close at first for my bow to avail me, so it was indeed the knife work that the Orc commander had foretold, but with a different enemy than he had imagined. I kept count as Orcs fell under my whirling blades, calling the count aloud to Gimli whenever he was close enough to hear me. 

“Fifteen, sixteen,” I called at one point when I neared him.

“Seventeen, eighteen,” was his reply as he continued to hew Orc necks, as he liked to say.

The battle continued as we slowly approached the city. “Twenty-nine,” I heard Gimli shout over the commotion of battle. Before I could shout back my own count, Aragorn called my name, drawing my attention to an approaching Mûmak that was ravaging the lines of the Rohirrim who had reached the field of battle before us. It had to be stopped, and that appeared to be the best way I could help Aragorn. Andúril was cutting swaths through the army of Orcs, as were the Rohirrim and the army of the Dead. Only the Mûmakil seemed able to challenge their supremacy. 

When the monster drew near, I jumped onto its tusk, safely out of range of its most deadly weapon. From there I was able to jump to its leg and climb to its back. I picked off the riders one by one, counting as I did. “Thirty-three, thirty-four.” When they got too close to shoot, I settled for pushing them off the back of the animal to either fall to their deaths or be killed by Aragorn and Gimli, the Rohirrim, or the Dead. It was growing tedious, however, and I was no closer to bringing down the beast.

I grabbed a hanging rope and swung down to its side, back and forth until I could reach the ropes holding the war tower to its back. With the ropes cut, the tower began to fall, pulling me back up onto the beast’s back as it went. That left me with no adversary but the Mûmak itself. I climbed to the back of its neck and fired three arrows into its brain. As it stumbled and collapsed to the ground, I slid down its trunk, safely away from the falling body. A few feet away from where I landed, Gimli looked distinctly unimpressed. “That still only counts as one!” he informed me.

All around us the Dead were swarming over the remaining Mûmakil and into Minas Tirith, ending the siege and making the city safe once more. I looked around for more enemies and saw Aragorn doing the same. A shout drew our attention. We turned, looking for the source of the call and saw Éomer, sitting tired but proud on his horse, his white crest fluttering in the wind.

“Thus we meet again, Éomer,” Aragorn said with a smile, “though all the hosts of Mordor lay between us.”

Éomer dismounted and came to stand beside us. “I knew not that you were a man foresighted,” he replied. “Yet twice blessed is help unlooked for, and never was a meeting of friends more joyful. Nor indeed more timely. You came none too soon, my friend. Much loss and sorrow has befallen us.”

Aragorn surveyed the battlefield where all who had stood against us lay dead. “It has been avenged,” Aragorn answered. I was about to ask Éomer where Théoden was when the King of the Dead at the head of his army came to stand before Aragorn.

“Release us,” he demanded.

“Bad idea,” Gimli counseled. “Very handy in a tight spot, these lads. Despite the fact they’re dead.” I agreed with Gimli’s assessment of their prowess, but I knew, too, that Aragorn could not keep them at his beck and call. They had fought for Gondor as they had sworn to do. Aragorn had to release them.

“You gave us your word,” the King of the Dead protested when he heard Gimli’s advice.

“I hold your oaths fulfilled,” Aragorn proclaimed. “Go. Rest in peace.” The King of the Dead sighed, broke his spear and cast it down. He bowed low, and the spectral army faded into nothing. And I knew that Aragorn was King even if he had yet to wear a crown. Next to me, Gimli bowed his head, his gesture saying as clearly as words that he, too, understood the power of Aragorn’s actions. I turned, then, movement at the corner of my eye catching my attention, and I saw that Gandalf had joined us, looking tired, but well. He seemed to understand the import of all that had transpired as well.

Before he could speak of it, though, another shout drew our attention. Pippin had found Merry, fallen on the field of combat. Gandalf ordered him transported immediately to the Houses of Healing and bade Aragorn come there as soon as he could. Aragorn paused only to speak with Éomer again, learning the news of Théoden’s death and, Éomer believed, Éowyn’s as well. “Éowyn?” Aragorn gasped. 

“Aye,” Éomer told us, “at the hands of the Witchking, though she had killed the Nazgûl before succumbing.” It was a feat for which she would be remembered as long as the story of the war of the Ring was told.

Chapter 119

Aragorn drew his Elvish cloak around him, shrouding his identity under a cloak of silvery grey. “The time is not now to claim my birthright,” he said to me softly in Elvish when I looked surprised at his dissimulation. “The time will come and I will claim it,” he promised me, “but not now.” With that, he headed to Minas Tirith, blending in with the soldiers returning from Pelennor Fields. I wrapped myself in my own cloak and followed, leaving Gimli to see to our affairs. He started to protest, then decided that he would be no help in healing and could at least find food and a place for us to rest. We climbed swiftly through the city, almost unseen, coming finally to the Houses of Healing in the upper ring.

As we reached the doors, we heard Éomer and Gandalf taking inside. “Where is Éowyn?” Éomer asked. 

“She lies within and is not dead, but is near death,” Gandalf answered. “Lord Faramir was wounded by an evil dart as well.”

“So victory is shorn of gladness,” Éomer said. “Shall we not send for Lord Aragorn?”

Aragorn stepped from the shadows then, lowering his hood to reveal his face. “He is come.”

Gandalf bade us enter quickly. “Time is urgent,” he said. “For it is only in your coming, Aragorn, that any hope remains for the sick that lie in this House. The hands of the King are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful King be known.”

We entered the halls and passed two guards in the livery of the Citadel, one tall, the other not so tall. “Strider! How splendid!” Pippin cried. “Do you know, I guessed it was you in the black ships. But they were all shouting corsairs and wouldn’t listen to me. How did you do it?”

“Well met indeed!” Aragorn replied with a smile. “But there is not time yet for travelers’ tales. Let me tend to those who need my care.”

Pippin stood back and let him pass. Gandalf told us quickly of the deeds of Éowyn and Merry, explaining how they had brought down the Witchking, and at what cost. “For long have I stood by them, and at first they spoke much in their dreaming, before they sank into the deadly darkness. Also it is given to me to see many things far off.”

Aragorn looked in on all three patients, Faramir, then Éowyn, then Merry. “Here I must put forth all such power and skill as is given to me. Would that Elrond were here, for he is the eldest of all our race and has the greatest power.”

Elrond was not there, but Aragorn was, and he was equal to the task at hand. I had known the power of his healing touch in its many forms over the years. The weariness of battle hung heavy about him, visible on his face with the cloak removed, but I knew my love. He would not rest, at least until he had tended the three who needed him most.

Éomer did not know him as well as I did. “First you must rest, surely, and at least eat a little?” he said.

“Nay,” Aragorn replied. “For these three, and most soon for Faramir, time is running out. All speed is needed.” He turned to a woman who lingered nearby, Ioreth, I later learned. “You have store in the House of the herbs of healing?” he asked her.

“Yes, lord,” she replied, “but not enough, I reckon for all that will need them. But I am sure I do not know where we shall find more; for all things are amiss in these dreadful days, what with fires and burnings, and the lads that run errands so few, and all the roads blocked. Why, it is days out of count since ever a carrier came in from Lossarnach to the market. But we do our best in this House with what we have, as I am sure your lordship will know.” I grew impatient with her long-winded speech. Had she not heard what Aragorn had just said? Time was running out and she wasted it with unnecessary words. Aragorn had the patience I lacked.

“I will judge that when I see. One thing also is short, time for speech,” he chided gently. “Have you athelas?”

“I do not know, I am sure, lord,” she answered, “at least not by that name. I will go and ask of the herb-master; he knows all the old names.”

“It is also called kingsfoil and maybe you know it by that name, for so the country-folk call it in these latter days,” Aragorn told her.

“Oh that,” she replied. “No, we have none of it, I am sure. Why, I have never heard that it had any great virtue. Still it smells sweet when bruised, does it not? If sweet is the right word; wholesome, maybe, is nearer.”

“Wholesome, indeed,” Aragorn agreed. “And now, dame, if you love the Lord Faramir, run as quick as your tongue and get me kingsfoil, if there is a leaf in the City.”

“And if not, I will ride to Lossarnach with Ioreth behind me,” Gandalf offered, “and she shall take me to the woods. And Shadowfax will show her the meaning of haste.”

While Ioreth searched for athelas, Aragorn instructed the other healers to heat water that he could use to treat the injured. He moved to Faramir’s side. “He is nearly spent,” Aragorn said softly. “But this comes not from the wound. See! That is healing. Had he been smitten by some dart of the Nazgûl, as you thought, he would have died that night. This hurt was given by some Southron arrow, I would guess. Who drew it forth? Was it kept?”

“I drew it forth and staunched the wound,” one of the healers said. “But I did not keep the arrow, for we had much to do. It was, as I remember, just such a dart as the Southrons use. Yet I believed that it came from the Shadows above, for else his fever and sickness were not to be understood, since the wound was not deep or vital. How then do you read the matter?”

“Weariness, grief for his father’s mood, a wound, and over all the Black Breath. He is a man of staunch will, for already he had come close under the Shadow before ever he rode to battle on the out-walls. Slowly the dark must have crept on him, even as he fought and strove to hold his outpost. Would that I could have been here sooner!” Aragorn lamented. I understood his remorse. We had failed to arrive in time to help Boromir on Amon Hen. It appeared we had arrived too late to help his brother in Minas Tirith. I underestimated Aragorn. He knelt next to Faramir and put his hand to the other man’s brow. He called Faramir’s name repeatedly. His face grew grey with weariness and his voice came each time more faintly, as if Aragorn himself were being pulled away from us into the Shadow that held Faramir captive. I took a step forward, coming to stand directly behind Aragorn. I did not speak, not wanting to break Aragorn’s concentration. I simply lay a hand on his shoulder, offering him my strength and support. His free hand reached up to clasp mine. Whether he actually drew from my strength or merely used the contact as an anchor to reality, I did not know, nor do I know now.

Just then, a guard ran in with athelas in hand. “It is kingsfoil, Sir, but not fresh, I fear. It must have been culled two weeks ago at the least. I hope it will serve, Sir?”

Aragorn removed his hand from Faramir’s brow, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze as he did. He took the herbs and examined them, smiling. “It will serve. The worst is over now. Stay and be comforted!” he said to the guard.

He blew on the leaves, then crushed them. Freshness filled the room as he cast the leaves into a bowl, a fragrance like dewy mornings of unshadowed sun in spring. Aragorn held the bowl before Faramir’s dreaming face and called his name one more time. 

Immediately, Faramir stirred and opened his eyes, looking at Aragorn who bent over him still. “My lord, you called me. I come. What does the King command?”

I marveled at Faramir’s immediate recognition even as Aragorn answered, “Walk no more in the shadows, but awake! You are weary. Rest a while, and take food, and be ready when I return.”

“I will, lord,” Faramir assured him. “For who would lie idle when the King has returned?”

“Farewell then for a while! I must go to others who need me,” Aragorn told him, taking his leave.

Behind him, Ioreth murmured, “The hands of the King are the hands of a healer!”

As we left Faramir’s room for Éowyn’s, I remembered my concerns about our reception in Minas Tirith, given Boromir’s reaction to Aragorn on their first meeting. Faramir seemed to have absorbed none of his father’s prejudices. 

Chapter 120

Éowyn had been placed in the room next to Faramir’s. She lay, unmoving on the bed when we came in. Aragorn knelt at her side and ran gentle, seeking hands over her arms. The hands of the King are the hands of a healer.

“Here there is a grievous hurt and a heavy blow,” Aragorn said softly. “The arm that was broken has been tended with due skill, and it will mend in time, if she has the strength to live.” I was surprised at his words. If she had the strength to live? Éowyn had more strength than any woman I knew, with the possible exception of Arwen. Éowyn had faced and defeated a Nâzgul. How could anyone wonder at her strength?

Aragorn’s hand came to rest on her right arm. “It is the shield-arm that is maimed; but the chief evil comes through the sword arm. In that there now seems no life, although it is unbroken. Alas! For she was pitted against a foe beyond the strength of her mind or body. And those who will take a weapon to such an enemy must be sterner than steel, if the very shock shall not destroy them.” He shook his head in remorse. “It was an evil doom that set her in his path. For she is a fair maiden, fairest lady of a house of queens. And yet I know not how I should speak of her. When I first looked on her and perceived her unhappiness, it seemed to me that I saw a white flower standing straight and proud, shapely as a lily, and yet knew that it was hard, as if wrought by elf-wrights out of steel. Or was it, maybe, a frost that had turned its sap to ice, and so it stood, bittersweet, still fair to see, but stricken, soon to fall and die?” I thought back to our first meeting with Éowyn as Aragorn spoke, seeing her there, at her uncle’s side, watching her take up a sword, watching Théoden deny her again and again when she asked to fight. His description of her was accurate. Her beauty was undeniable, as was the coldness that had claimed her for so long. “Her malady begins far back before this day, does it not, Éomer?”

Éomer stared at Aragorn, speechless at first. “I marvel that you should ask me. For I hold you blameless in this matter, as in all else; yet I knew not that Éowyn, my sister, was touched by any frost, until she first looked on you.” I could not help but wonder what Éowyn had been like before our arrival. Had there been happiness in her life? Or had our arrival simply brought the unhappiness into the open where Éomer and others finally noticed it?

“You had horses and deeds of arms,” Gandalf told Éomer, “and the free fields, but she, born in the body of a maid, had a spirit of courage at least the match of yours. Think you that Wormtongue had poison only for Théoden’s ears?” 

I had never considered what other damage Gríma might have caused, beyond the obvious effects of his words on the King. Looking down at Éowyn, I began to imagine the filth Gríma’s cruelty might have poured into Éowyn’s heart and mind. Her words about her fears came back to me and I saw what I had not seen before: Gríma’s hand in her despair. And unintentionally, Aragorn had added to it. She had offered him all that she had, all that she was, and he had turned her away. He had his reasons, good reasons, but all she saw was his refusal.

“I saw also what you saw, Éomer,” Aragorn said softly. “Few other griefs amid the ill chances of this world have more bitterness and shame for a man’s heart than to behold the love of a lady so fair and brave that cannot be returned. Sorrow and pity have followed me ever since I left her desperate in Dunharrow and rode to the Paths of the Dead; and no fear upon that way was so present as the fear for what might befall her. And yet, Éomer, I say to you that she loves you more truly than me; for you she loves and knows; but in me she loves only a hope of glory and great deeds, and lands far from the fields of Rohan. I have, maybe, the power to heal her body, and to recall her from the dark valley. But to what she will awake, hope or forgetfulness or despair, I do not know. And if to despair, then she will die, unless other healing comes which I cannot bring. Alas, for her deeds have set her among the queens of great renown.”

I knew the despair to which Éowyn would awake, the despair of a world in which the one she loved did not love her. I hoped Aragorn was right, that she would realize that she loved a shadow and a thought, as he had put it in Dunharrow, that she loved him as a young soldier would love a great captain. She did not know him well enough to love him the way she believed. Yet I did not know, then, where her healing could come from. Mine, such as it was, had come from the trees and my father’s unwavering faith in me. But Éowyn could not reach for the trees as I could, and she had no father to love her anymore. She would need her brother, I suspected, but I did not see how he could stay at her side, not when we needed him to lead his Riders still. We had saved Minas Tirith, but I was not so naïve as to believe that we had won the war.

Aragorn knelt at her side, brushing the strands of pale gold from a face white as a lily, cold as frost, and hard as graven stone. He bent his head and kissed her on the brow, a benediction and perhaps a good-bye. “Éowyn, Éomund’s daughter, awake! For your enemy has passed away,” he said softly.

She did not wake, but her breath deepened, as if sensing some change. He bruised two of the athelas leaves and cast them into the steaming water. The clean scent of the athelas filled the room immediately, as it had in Faramir’s room. Aragorn dipped a cloth into the water and laved her brow and her cold right arm. “Awake, Éowyn, Lady of Rohan,” he said again, taking her right hand in his. Though I could not explain how I knew, it did not seem as lifeless as it had before. “Awake! The shadow is gone and all darkness is washed clean.”

When she still did not respond, he turned to Éomer. “Call her,” he requested, putting Éowyn’s hand in her brother’s and moving back to stand in the shadows of the room. I went to his side, my hand returning to its place on his shoulder. We were spectators to whatever would occur. Aragorn had done all he could, and all I could do was support him.

Éomer had tears running down his cheeks as he called his sister’s name, but his call succeeded where Aragorn’s had failed, and I realized that he had been right to say that she loved Éomer more than she loved him.

“Éomer?” she asked, clearly confused. “What joy is this? For they said that you were slain. Nay, but that was only the dark voices in my dream. How long have I been dreaming?”

“Not long, my sister,” Éomer assured her, “but think no more on it.”

“I am strangely weary,” she said. “I must rest a little. But tell me, what of the Lord of the Mark?”

I could see from his expression that it was a question he had been dreading. “He lies now in great honor in the Citadel of Gondor,” Éomer told her.

“And what of Merry, the king’s esquire, the Halfling? Éomer, you shall make him a knight of the Riddermark, for he is valiant,” she insisted, though her voice was growing weaker with each word.

“He lies nearby in this House,” Gandalf answered. “We will go to him,” he continued, gesturing to Aragorn and myself. “Éomer shall stay here for a while But do not speak yet of war or woe, until you are made whole again. Great gladness it is to see you wake again to health and hope, so valiant a lady.”

Gandalf’s words were meant to be encouraging, but Éowyn did not seem to desire his encouragement. “To health?” she asked skeptically. “It may be so. At least while there is an empty saddle of some fallen Rider that I can fill and there are deeds to do. But to hope? I do not know.”

I did not know whether her hopelessness was caused by the lingering effects of her wounds and the encounter with the Witchking or whether her unrequited love led her to such despair, but I pitied her, for I knew that her brother would not let her risk her life again. I, at least, could go to war at Aragorn’s side, could defend him or die trying. She would not be allowed that choice.

Aragorn walked quietly to the door, leaving Éomer to reason with his sister. I followed, my place at Aragorn’s side. “Will she survive?” I asked Aragorn, wanting his honest opinion.

“She awoke. There is nothing wrong with her body now that time and care will not heal. Even Men heal from broken bones. But if her heart remains dead, she will simply find another way to ride into battle, there to perish, for she will have no care for her own life and safety. I have seen it before, in those who have suffered great losses in war or other tragedy. They give up hope and succumb to death prematurely, either because they seek it out or because they do not fight it off.”

His words struck a chord within me. I had sunk to those depths, after Aragorn left me for Arwen and when I believed him dead. “Is there nothing we can do for her?” I wondered aloud.

“Unless you can offer her your heart in exchange for hers, I do not see what we can do,” Aragorn said sadly. “She is a fair and worthy lady, but my heart is not mine to give.”

Nor was mine.


	25. Chapters 121-125

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't post this section without a HUGE shout-out to the best beta I could ever ask for. We met oh so many years ago when she sent me an email at the end of chapter 121, telling me the characters I spent 120 chapters lovingly creating wouldn't act the way they did in chapter 121. She then went on to explain in great detail why she felt that way. Turns out she was right (she's always right), so I rewrote the ending, and for almost 17 years, everything I've written has gone directly to her for approval before I share it with anyone else.

Chapter 121

Aragorn and I moved silently through the halls to where Merry lay, awaiting Aragorn’s healing. There was nothing more to say. Through no fault of our own, neither of us could give Éowyn what she needed. Aragorn needed to focus on Merry. I followed to give him my support.

Aragorn had told me once, early on the quest, that the Hobbits would surprise me before we were done, that they had more strength in their hearts than was evidenced by the size of their bodies. Watching Frodo struggle with the Ring and seeing Sam care for his friend had given me an idea already of what Aragorn meant, as had finding Merry and Pippin unfazed by their time in the hands of the Uruk-Hai. Somehow, though, none of that had prepared me for the sight of Merry lying on the bed, his face grey with pain and exhaustion from a blow struck in defense of an old man and a young woman. Éowyn had killed the Nâzgul, and no one ever denied her that glory, but the killing blow had been made possible by another blow, from a Hobbit of the Shire. She never forgot that, and neither did we. 

“Poor old Merry!” Pippin cried when we came in, Merry’s hand cradled in his.

Aragorn smiled at Pippin and reassured him. “Do not be afraid,” Aragorn told him. “I came in time. I will call him back. He is weary and grieved, and he has taken a hurt like the Lady Éowyn, daring to smite that deadly thing. But these evils can be amended, so strong and gay a spirit is in him. His grief he will not forget, but it will not darken his heart. Rather, it will teach him wisdom.” I smiled at that, though sadly. It was a sad situation that the two Hobbits had to learn wisdom in such perilous ways.

Aragorn sank to the bed beside Merry, fatigue visible in every line of his body, but he never hesitated. He had healed the Steward of Gondor, out of duty most likely for he did not know Faramir then to do so for other reasons. He had healed Éowyn out of pity and sorrow, believing himself somehow responsible for her state, even if Éomer held him blameless. He healed Merry out of love for a true and valued companion. He touched Merry’s eyelids and called him by name. “Meriadoc. Awake, Merry of the Shire and of Rohan.” 

Then, once again, he bruised athelas leaves and cast them in hot water. Their scent freshened the air, washing away the memory of darkness and despair, leaving our spirits lighter than before. With Faramir, I had focused on Aragorn, for I had seen that the struggle was bitter. I had given him my strength, not really paying attention to the effects of the athelas. In Éowyn’s room, I had focused on her, on her despair and sense of loss, again not paying attention to the athelas. But in Merry’s room, I did not have those other concerns. Aragorn said he could heal Merry and I had faith in his abilities. When the scent of the athelas wafted through the room, I felt the weight on my soul lighten, as if I were standing in the woods of home, before the darkness came, surrounded by the trees that I loved. Peace settled over me, freeing me from the burdens of war and heartache.

Merry stirred as I marveled at the healing the athelas brought even to me. “I am hungry,” he declared when he opened his eyes, eliciting chuckles from us all. “What is the time?”

Many years later, as we sat around telling tales, Merry and Pippin talked of their first journey with Aragorn, when they knew him as Strider still, and not as the King of Gondor. They described the first day of their trip from Bree and how Strider had clearly not known or appreciated the ways of the Shire folk. They explained to their laughing listeners about first breakfast and second breakfast, and how Strider simply did not understand. We laughed to hear of the apples thrown their way by a frustrated Ranger who knew little more for caring for Hobbits than the Hobbits did of surviving in the wild. Even before hearing that tale, though, I knew of the Hobbits’ love affair with food. It seemed perfectly normal to me that Merry should wake from his nightmare and immediately ask for food.

“Past supper-time now,” Pippin said, answering his question about time with the information most interesting to Merry, “though I daresay I could bring you something, if they will let me.”

“They will indeed,” Gandalf promised, “and anything else that this Rider of Rohan may desire, if it can be found in Minas Tirith, where his name is in honor.” Honor, indeed. A few months ago, even a few days ago, most of Middle Earth had never heard of Hobbits. But that had changed. The Steward was alive because of one Hobbit and the Witchking was dead because of another. Two more carried the fate of us all in their tiny hands as they struggled along the Morgai, though we knew not then where they were.

“Good!” Merry exclaimed at the offer of food. “Then I would like supper first, and after that a pipe.” He paused for a moment, lost in thought. “No, not a pipe. I don’t think I’ll smoke again.”

“Why not?” Pippin asked. Though he said the words, the same thought crossed my mind. Smoking had been one of Merry’s favorite pastimes, second only to eating. I could not imagine what had made him decide to give it up.

“Well, Théoden is dead,” Merry answered. “It has brought it all back to me. He said he was sorry he had never had a chance of talking herb-lore with me. Almost the last thing he ever said. I shan’t ever be able to smoke again without thinking of him, and that day, Pippin, when he rode up to Isengard and was so polite.”

“Smoke then and think of him!” Aragorn encouraged Merry. “For he was a gentle heart and a great King and kept his oaths; and he rose out of the shadows to a last fair morning. Though your service to him was brief, it should be a memory glad and honorable to the end of your days.” 

“Well then, if Strider will provide what is needed, I will smoke and think,” Merry agreed.

“Master Meriadoc,” Aragorn chided, “if you think that I have passed through the mountains and the realm of Gondor with fire and sword to bring herbs to a careless soldier who throws away his gear, you are mistaken. If your pack has not been found, then you must send for the herb-master of this house. I must go now. For I have not slept in such a bed as this, since I rode from Dunharrow, nor eaten since the dark before dawn.” Merry looked much rebuked.

“I am frightfully sorry,” he apologized immediately. “Go at once! Ever since that night at Bree, we have been a nuisance to you. But it is the way of my people to use light words at such times and say less than they mean. We fear to say too much. It robs us of the right words when a jest is out of place.”

“I know that well,” Aragorn assured him, “or I would not deal with you in the same way. May the Shire live forever unwithered!” He bent and kissed Merry’s brow before turning to leave. As I followed him, I caught Merry’s grin as he spied his own pack, and with it, his pipe. I could hear Pippin unpacking Merry’s pipe and caught the distinctive smell of pipeweed as we made our way out of the Houses of Healing and back into the city.

To my surprise, Aragorn did not draw his cloak back around him as we descended through Minas Tirith. As we walked, a murmur began, people pointing and whispering as we passed. Elfstone, they called him, seeing the Evenstar hanging around his neck, choosing of their own accord the name for him that had been foreseen at his birth. I wanted to pull his cloak closed and lead him into the shadows. He was tired and needed to rest, but he caught my eye and shook his head, stopping to heal those who approached him. I worked at his side, cleaning and bandaging where I could, but the people of Gondor were not interested in my aid. They wanted the aid of the King, uncrowned and unannounced as he was, even if that aid was as simple as binding a wound. And thus it was that Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Elessar Telcontar, King of Gondor and Arnor, returned to Minas Tirith.

The hands of the King are the hands of a healer.

When exhaustion finally overcame him, he slipped his cloak around his shoulders again and let me lead him out to rest.

We found the tents that Gimli had arranged for us at the edge of the camp. By the time we reached the tents, Aragorn was leaning heavily on me, exhaustion weighing him down so that he could barely walk. I was tempted to sweep him into my arms and carry him the rest of the way. I could have done it, but if we had been seen, it might have undermined Aragorn’s authority. So I supported his weight, guiding him to the tent.

As he collapsed on the cot inside, I had a vision of another day and another cot. This time, though, there was no fear to vanquish, no specter of death to conquer. I helped Aragorn remove his outer tunic and his boots. He landed face down on the cot, clearly too tired to even finish undressing.

“Will you let me help you undress?” I asked. This was not like at Helm’s Deep. His clothes were not wet; he was not wounded. There was no reason to strip him as I had then. It was up to him how he wanted to sleep.

There was a mumble and a nod that I took for assent. I reached for the hem of his undertunic and helped him pull it over his head. He let out a groan as he lay down again. Tentatively, I ran my hand over his shoulders. The muscles there were so knotted that I could feel the tension without even trying. The scene was playing just like Helm’s Deep, but I could not let it end the same way. Aragorn knew Arwen was alive, knew she had stayed for him. The ambiguity was gone, and with it, any way to excuse intimacy between us. Aragorn, however, needed to relax, and if he went to sleep with those knots in his muscles, he would barely be able to move the next day. That, in my mind, was unacceptable. I would just have to control myself. 

I started at his neck, rubbing and kneading, working out the tension. He groaned again, this time in pleasure. I had to remind myself that this was not going where my body wanted it to go. Not even if he asked. In Lórien, his fear and grief had driven him into my arms. In Helm’s Deep, my fear and grief had driven me into his arms, our interactions in both cases necessary for us to go on with what needed to be done. That night on Pelennor Fields, there was only fatigue. For the moment, at least, we had left fear and grief behind. Aragorn simply needed to rest, and I needed to help him do it.

My hands started down his back, massaging the large muscles that crossed his upper back, the muscles that allowed him to swing a sword or draw a bow. I could feel the spasms as they relaxed beneath my ministrations. I could also feel the tension draining out of him. Sleep overtook him quickly. I continued my massage, gently easing the knots from his lower back. He was beautiful as he lay there in exhausted repose. I indulged myself for a few moments, trailing my fingers over his skin, drinking in the texture and the smell that was so uniquely Aragorn. The quest was nearing its end. Frodo would succeed or fail, and Aragorn would be mine no more. I shamelessly took advantage of his unconscious state to touch him one more time. Perhaps one last time. Then my own weariness caught up with me, and I left him to sleep, seeking my own tent and my own bed since his was no longer mine to share.

Chapter 122

I awoke early the next morning, not needing sleep the way Aragorn did and not having exhausted myself by healing not just Faramir, Éowyn, and Merry, but also countless others in the city. Gimli, too, was awake and eager to hear of our Hobbit friends.

“It is good to learn that they are still alive,” Gimli said as I joined him outside our tent, “for they cost us great pains in our march over the Rohan, and I would not have such pains all wasted.”

I smiled at Gimli’s gruff words. He hid his heart beneath gruffness and jibes, but I knew he had grown as fond of the Hobbits as I had. “Shall we go and see them?” I suggested.

He agreed readily, and together we entered Minas Tirith, Elf and Dwarf, side by side, a thing unheard of in all but the most ancient tales.

“There is some good stone-work here,” Gimli observed as we walked, “but also some that is less good, and the streets could be better contrived. When Aragorn comes into his own, I shall offer him the service of stonewrights of the Mountain, and we will make this a town to be proud of.”

I looked around as well, noticing the empty courtyards and barren ground. “They need more gardens,” I added. “The houses are dead and there is too little that grows and is glad. When Aragorn comes into his own, the people of the Wood shall bring him birds that sing and trees that do not die.” It seemed a small enough thing to offer next to Gimli’s offer of masons to rebuild a city ravaged by siege, but I knew the power of trees, and Aragorn had some sense of it as well, even if he did not understand the way I did. He would not scorn my gift for all that it was less practical than Gimli’s.

We reached the Houses of Healing soon after, and found our friends in the garden. We walked with them for a while, and talked and listened, speaking of all that had passed in our separation.

“Tell us of Faramir,” I asked. “He resembles his brother and yet not.”

And so Pippin told us of his first meeting with Faramir, sitting astride Shadowfax in front of Gandalf as the wizard protected the soldiers from the Nâzgul on their flight from Osgiliath. “He stared at me in the strangest way,” Pippin explained. “I didn’t understand, but Gandalf did. He figured out that Faramir had seen Frodo in Ithilien. Gollum was leading them on a secret path that was supposed to take them into Mordor unseen. It seems strange to me, but Frodo seemed to trust Gollum from what Faramir said.”

“How did he come to be wounded so?” Merry asked, knowing that Faramir, too, resided in the Houses of Healing.

Pippin’s face clouded over at the question, one he clearly would have preferred not to answer, but he took a deep breath and explained about how he had sworn his service to the Steward, Denethor, and how Denethor had used Faramir’s love for his brother to goad Faramir into trying to retake Osgiliath as proof of his worth, even though it was clearly an impossible task. He explained in halting words how Faramir’s body had been dragged back to Minas Tirith by his horse, and how Denethor had believed his son dead, despite all of Pippin’s protests that he was alive.

“He built a pyre,” Pippin said, his voice trembling, “and put Faramir on it before climbing on it himself. When the guards hesitated to light the fire, he lit it himself. I managed to pull Faramir off before he was burned, but he did not wake up until Aragorn came.”

“That is insane,” Gimli exclaimed.

“Yes,” Pippin agreed. “Gandalf thinks Denethor must have had a palantír like the one we found in Isengard, only he wasn’t strong enough to use it, and whatever he saw drove him to madness.”

I shook my head as I struggled to assimilate all that Pippin had just revealed. I could not imagine what Faramir must have felt when he heard his father callously dismissing his life. My father and I did not always agree, but he had never let me doubt how much he loved me. I shuddered at the mere thought of having to live without my father’s love and support. Faramir earned my respect as I listened to Pippin’s tale.

“What of you, Merry?” I asked, when it became clear that Pippin was having trouble speaking calmly of all he had seen. “Will you tell us your tale?”

“I will,” he said softly, “but let’s have a seat while I do. I’m getting tired.” Hobbits really are amazing creatures. When we found Merry and Pippin in the garden that morning, Merry looked well. So well that it was easy to forget that just the day before he had been unconscious, hovering on the brink of death but for Aragorn’s intervention.

“Of course we’ll sit,” Gimli replied. We found benches in the gardens where we could rest while Merry talked.

When we were settled, Merry told us of Théoden’s refusal to bring Merry along, of Éowyn’s disguise and her offer to let Merry ride with her. He spoke of the battle, of Orcs and Mûmakil, of falling and waking to see Théoden’s broken body and the dead beast, Éowyn the only thing between the Witchking and the King. 

“She challenged him,” Merry said, “refusing to let him pass. He laughed at her, thinking her a simple soldier. He called her a fool, told her no man could kill him and tried to kill her. I didn’t think. I just drew the blade that Galadriel gave me and I stabbed him from behind. The pain shot up my arm immediately, as if he had stabbed me, not the other way round. But he let Éowyn go. She pulled off her helm. ‘I am no man,’ she told the Wraith before stabbing him.” He paused for a long time before asking. “Why did he say that no man could kill him?”

“It happened long ago,” I replied. “The Witchking had taken over Fornost, in the North. With an army of Elvish warriors, Lord Glorfindel of Imladris went to fight him, to drive him out. They succeeded in defeating him, but not in killing him, and Lord Glorfindel had a vision that no man would ever be able to kill the Witchking. The Witchking clearly took that to mean that he was immortal. He never counted on meeting a Hobbit and a woman in battle. You have done an amazing thing, you and Lady Éowyn. You brought down Sauron’s most feared servant. We have not yet defeated Sauron, but you have struck him a terrible blow. Whatever happens, be proud of that.”

We all fell silent for a few moments. I looked out over the plains of the Pelennor toward the Anduin and saw something unexpected. “Look! Gulls!” I said to my friends. “They are flying far inland. A wonder they are to me and a trouble to my heart. Never in all my life had I met them, until we came to Pelargir, and there I heard them crying in the air as we rode to the battle of the ships. Then I stood still, forgetting war in Middle Earth, for their wailing voices spoke to me of the Sea. The Sea! Alas! I have not yet beheld it. But deep in the hearts of all my kindred lies the sea-longing, which it is perilous to stir. Alas! For the gulls. No peace again shall I have under beech or elm.”

“Say not so!” Gimli pleaded. “There are countless things still to see in Middle Earth, and great works to do.”

“You must not go to the Havens, Legolas,” Merry insisted. “There will always be some folk, big or little, and even a few Dwarves, like Gimli, who need you.”

I smiled at the Halfling. “I will not leave while Aragorn still lives,” I promised him, “but I will not linger long after he is gone.”

As if wanting to change the subject, Merry and Pippin began asking questions about our journey to Minas Tirith. We told them what we could, describing the Paths of the Dead in vague detail, spending more time on the battle of the ships and the trek up the Anduin. Those were safe subjects that we were willing to explore with our young friends. We sat there for a long time, talking and basking in the warmth of Arien overhead and the trees around us. Then, a messenger came, requesting that Gimli and I come with him to take counsel with Aragorn and the others. We left the Hobbits with words of encouragement and a promise to return later, and followed the messenger to the Citadel.

Elvish translations

Gwador – brother (sworn)

Chapter 123

Chapter 123

When Gimli and I arrived at the Citadel, the messenger motioned us to go inside, but did not follow. We went inside slowly, not sure what we would find. We found the throne room, one throne high on a pedestal, another at the base. The seat of the King and the seat of the Steward. Aragorn was there already, but no one else. “How are the Hobbits?” he asked.

“As well as can be expected,” I replied.

Gimli stomped over to Denethor’s seat. “So this was the chair of the Steward?” he asked. Aragorn nodded. “Bah!” Gimli spat. “Good riddance to him. ’Twill serve well enough now as a seat for a Dwarf!” He pulled himself up onto the seat and withdrew his pipe. A glance at Aragorn and a nod were all the permission Gimli needed to light the infernal thing.

A few moments later, Gandalf and Éomer joined us. “Good, we are all here,” Gandalf said when he saw Aragorn, Gimli and me. “Frodo has passed beyond my sight. The darkness is deepening.”

“If Sauron had the Ring, we would know it,” Aragorn put in. That was certainly true. If Sauron had the Ring, we would not have defeated his armies on Pelennor Fields, even with the help of the Army of the Dead.

“It is only a matter of time. He has suffered a defeat, yes, but behind the walls of Mordor, our enemy is regrouping.”

“Let him stay there,” Gimli said. “Let him rot! Why should we care?”

“Because 10,000 orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom. The Stones of Seeing do not lie, and not even the Lord of Barad-dûr can make them do so. He can, maybe, by his will choose what things shall be seen by weaker minds, or cause them to mistake the meaning of what they see. Nonetheless it cannot be doubted that when Denethor saw great forces arrayed against him in Mordor, and more still being gathered, he saw that which truly is. I have sent Frodo to his death,” Gandalf lamented. His words surprised me. Not the concern over Frodo, but the revelation of what Denethor had seen in the palantír. Pippin had alluded to its existence, but had not given any indication of what Denethor might have seen.

“No. There is still hope for Frodo,” Aragorn disagreed. “He needs time, and safe passage across the plains of Gorgorath. We can give him that.”

“How?” Gimli asked. The words were out of his mouth before they were out of mine, but I wondered the same thing.

“Draw out Sauron's army,” Aragorn proposed. “Empty his lands. We will gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate.”

Aragorn’s words sent Gimli into a fit of coughing. Whatever answer he had expected, that had not been it. I, however, was beginning to see Aragorn’s plan.

“We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms,” Éomer reminded him. Even with the army of Gondor added to the Rohirrim Éomer had brought with him, our numbers were too small to face all of Mordor. Too many soldiers, from both nations, had died defending Minas Tirith. First in Osgiliath, then in the city itself and on the plains outside.

“Not for ourselves,” Aragorn agreed, “but we can give Frodo his chance if we keep Sauron's eye fixed upon us -- keep him blind to all else that moves.” He looked at me, hoping that I at least understood. And I did.

“A diversion.”

“Sauron will suspect a trap,” Gandalf said quietly. “He will not take the bait.”

“Certainty of death, small chance of success. What are we waiting for?” Gimli wanted to know. I smiled at his words. Aragorn could always count on Gimli’s support. 

“If we convince Sauron that our actions are the result of the vanity of the new master of the Ring, he will come out to meet us, to try to retake it,” Aragorn said.

“And how do you propose to do that?” Éomer asked.

“The palantír,” Aragorn replied. “I will show myself to him in the Stone of Orthanc, show him Andúril that was reforged from Narsil. He will see my actions as a challenge. Already, I was a threat to him. Now I have entered the city that is mine by right. I have the sword that brought him low before. His great Captain was defeated. He will see these things as signs that I have taken the Ring for myself and he will come out to meet us.”

None of us spoke for at first. What Aragorn was proposing seemed dangerous, but I knew him well enough to know that he would carry out his plan with or without our help. I had seen what happened when he touched the palantír in Edoras. Granted, he was unprepared for the contact, but I was not about to leave him alone to deal with it a second time.

“Two days,” Gandalf said finally. “We need to march in two days. Does that give you enough time?”

“It will have to be enough,” Aragorn replied. “Éomer?”

“The Rohirrim will be ready to ride,” he promised.

“Good,” Aragorn said. “I need to find out who is leading Gondor’s army in Faramir’s absence.”

“Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth arrived this morning,” Gandalf said. “He is the most ranking member of Gondor’s hierarchy with Faramir injured.”

“I will need…” Aragorn’s words were interrupted by the slamming open of the doors to the Citadel. A guard was babbling apologies as two identical forms strode inside.

“We thought we might find you here, gwador.”

Elvish translations

Hannon chen – thank you

Idho – rest

Im lím cauno – I am yours to command

Maer dú – good night

Melethen – my love

Mellon nín – my friend

Nach maetolo – you’re welcome

Tauren – my King

Chapter 124

A surprised silence held us all in place for a moment, then Aragorn was striding down the long room to greet his brothers. Gandalf smiled indulgently as he watched the three embrace. Éomer looked confused. “Lord Elrond’s sons,” I said by way of explanation before I joined them, greeting the twins with an embrace of my own.

Behind me, I heard Gandalf telling Éomer that Aragorn had been raised by Elrond and that he considered the twins his brothers. Aragorn, meanwhile, was telling Elrohir and Elladan what had happened since we left Rivendell. He glossed over much of the story, but told them enough that they knew what our situation was.

As they talked, I turned back to the others. “Just what we need,” Gimli muttered. “More Elves.”

I smirked at him. “You did not complain when Haldir and the others arrived in Helm’s Deep,” I reminded him.

“They were a company of warriors, not two more pampered princes.”

“Pampered prince, am I?” I asked. “Are you forgetting all the battles we have fought together? Do not discount them, Gimli,” I requested. “They fight with a strength and skill I have seen nowhere else. Though they are only two, they will add immeasurably to our strength when we march. And, having them here will reassure Aragorn.”

“Since you ask so nicely,” Gimli grumbled. I laughed openly at that, getting strange looks from Aragorn and the twins who were too far away to have heard our conversation. I gestured for them to go on with their conversation and to not mind us. 

“He does seem glad to see them,” Gimli said after a minute of watching the three of them carefully.

“In his mind and heart, they are his brothers. He has fought at their side since he was a boy. Their very presence gives him courage,” I explained.

“As if he needed more of that,” Gimli replied. It was true, I supposed. Aragorn had never lacked the courage to go into battle, but I hoped that having the twins there would also help him have the courage to do the rest of what needed to be done: the palantír, and eventually the throne. Not that I believed Arwen was ever far from his mind, but their presence would remind him even more of her and of why he was doing this. If we failed, my family, my kin, could take the ships and sail to Valinor, but Arwen no longer had that option. If we failed, Arwen would die. If fighting beside the twins helped remind Aragorn of that, helped make him even more determined to succeed, then I was all for it.

Then Aragorn was at my side again, the twins not far behind, but talking to Gandalf and meeting Éomer. “I will need you when I look into the palantír,” he said to me softly. “Will you be there?”

“I will always be there for you,” I replied equally as softly, resisting the urge to take his hand. “You have only to tell me when and where.”

“Tonight, I think, after dinner, here in the room that speaks of my birthright,” he decided.

“I will be here,” I promised. “And until then?”

“Until then, we must make preparations to march in two days,” he answered. “I will need you for that as well, both of you.” His gaze moved to include Gimli as well. “I must find Prince Imrahil and convince him that I have the right to lead his army and I must find us horses as well since Brego and Arod would not come through the mountain with us. And…”

“Deal with the prince,” I interrupted. “We cannot do that for you, but we can find new mounts and make the other preparations. Not all the responsibility has to be yours all the time, mellon nín.”

“Hannon chen,” he said with a bow of his head. “Thank you,” he added for Gimli’s sake.

“Nach maetolo,” I replied as Gimli mumbled, “You’re welcome.”

Then, Aragorn called to the guard who had failed to stop the twins from entering the Citadel, requesting that Prince Imrahil be summoned. That was all the signal I needed to motion for Gimli and the twins to join me. “Let us leave Aragorn to his matters of state. We have preparations to make.”

Neither the twins nor Gimli looked overly thrilled at being in each other’s company, but neither were they going to leave me alone with the other. I hoped that they would come to appreciate one another as I appreciated all three of them, but I knew it would take time. I suggested we go to the stables first. “Aragorn, Gimli, and I will need mounts,” I explained to the twins, speaking Westron because of Gimli. “We arrived up the river on ships and so brought no horses with us. Do you have mounts of your own?” I asked them.

“I am not sure they are our own,” Elladan replied with a grin, “but we do have horses. We found them running free, but wearing both saddle and bridle, not far from Edoras. They seemed willing enough to bear us.”

“A grey and a bay?” I asked.

“Aye, how did you know?” Elrohir replied.

“It would seem that you have found our horses, mellyn. They fled from the path we had no choice but to tread.”

We entered the stables and found that the twins had indeed restored Arod and Brego to us. Arod whickered gently when he heard Gimli and me talking. I spoke with the stable master and arranged for mounts for Elladan and Elrohir. They declined saddles and bridles, saying they would ride and fight in the Elvish style. To that end, they rode out for a few hours to acquaint themselves with their new steeds. Gimli and I, meanwhile, made arrangements for supplies and weapons to take on the six-day march to Mordor. When I requested more than we would need, Gimli looked at me, surprised. “Why do you want more than we will need for the trip to Mordor?” he asked. “It is extra weight to carry.”

“We will need it for the march home,” I replied.

“The march home,” he repeated. Then he began to chortle. “You are something else, Master Elf. The march home when we march outnumbered to the very gates of Mordor. Do you really think we will return home?” he asked, growing serious.

“I do not know,” I replied honestly, “but I will not give up hope while we live and breathe. As long as Sauron does not have the Ring and there are people left to fight him, there is hope. Despair may take us all, in the end, but I will not give into it until I have no other choice.”

“Neither will I,” Gimli resolved.

The preparations took the rest of the day. We rejoined our friends for dinner. Pippin was there, as a guard of the Citadel, but Merry did not yet feel strong enough to join us. When dinner was over, Aragorn met my eyes and nodded. We made our excuses and returned to the throne room. It was almost exactly as I had left it early in the day. The only differences were the covered palantír resting on a pedestal in the center of the room and a neat pile of garments on the chair of the Steward. “What are those for?” I asked Aragorn, pointing to the clothes.

“If I am to make Sauron believe that I have the Ring, he must see me, among other things, as the King of Gondor. I cannot challenge him dressed as a simple Ranger. Elrond told me to put aside the Ranger and become who I was born to be. Those are only symbols, but they are symbols Sauron will understand,” Aragorn replied.

He began undoing his belt, releasing it and shedding the frayed outer tunic that he wore. Silently, I went to the pile of clothing and looked at what had been set out for him. When I turned back to him, he was naked to the waist. I picked up the red silk undertunic and brought it to him, helping him put it on. The black tunic with the White Tree embroidered into it was next. It was long enough to cover his leggings. I handed him the bracers he had worn since Boromir’s death. He fastened them back on, over the sleeves of red silk. Then I presented him with Andúril, which he clasped around his waist. Finally, I fastened the cloak over his shoulders, shaking it out so it flowed down his back. He ran his fingers through his messy hair, trying to straighten it. “That will not do,” I said, speaking for the first time since his transformation had begun. “Allow me.”

He nodded, and I picked up a clip that lay with the clothes. Gently, I untangled the knots from his hair and pulled the sides back into a loose braid, using the clip to secure it. I stepped back and looked at him carefully. Standing before me was the King of Gondor. Without hesitation, I dropped to one knee. “Tauren,” I said, bowing my head, “Im lím cauno.”

“Legolas?” he asked.

“You have my bow. Now and always.” And thus I swore my service to my King.

“Please, mellon,” Aragorn asked, raising me to my feet again, “I will have enough fawning servitors. I need you to remain my honest friend.”

“My vow does not change who I am, nor does it change how I will treat you when we speak privately, but I needed to make it. Will you accept my service, Aragorn, son of Arathorn?” I challenged.

“I will accept it, Legolas Thranduilion,” he replied formally when he realized I was serious. “And your first task will be to help me use this wretched crystal.”

“The strength to use it comes from within,” I reminded him. “And you are as strong as any I have known. Sauron must not see me. He must know that you do this alone and unaided, but I will be here to catch you should you falter.”

“Or to draw me back if I fail,” Aragorn finished.

“You will not fail.”

My words seemed to comfort him. He motioned me back a little so I would be less obvious to Sauron’s gaze through the palantír. When I stood where he wanted, he fingered the Evenstar, for luck or strength, and removed the cloth from the orb. He did not touch it, but rather held his hand over it. His face was a fixed mask of concentration. As I watched, his hand trembled. I almost took a step toward him, wanting to offer my aid, but the trembling stopped and he raised his other hand, the one that bore the ring of Barahir. He held the ring close to the Stone for a moment before drawing Andúril from its sheath and presenting it to the palantír as if for inspection. His lips pursed in concentration as he vied with the Dark Lord. I could see what his concentration was costing him in the tremors that wracked him occasionally and in the lines that etched themselves around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, but he did not give in. I do not know how long he stood there, struggling with Sauron, but eventually, he lowered his sword and his hand. “Cover it,” he said in a voice barely audible. I quickly did as he asked. As soon as the palantír was hidden, he started to collapse. I wrapped my arms around him and eased him to the floor.

“It is done,” he said softly before his eyes closed. I held on to him tightly, not knowing what else to do. After several long minutes, his eyelids fluttered open again. “I am the lawful master of the Stone,” he said softly. “I had the strength enough to use it – barely. I spoke no word to him, and in the end, I wrenched the Stone to my own will. That alone he will find hard to endure, and will be proof, in his eyes, that I have his Ring and not just my own. He is not so mighty yet that he is above fear and the sight of the blade reforged was surely a blow to his heart.”

“Rest,” I urged, cutting off whatever else he might have said. “Let me help you to your rooms.”

Aragorn nodded, leaning heavily on me as we rose from our seat on the floor. I walked with him to the rooms that he had taken as his own during the day. He continued to lean on me whenever no one else was in sight, but he forced himself to walk unaided anytime we passed others in the halls. When we reached his chambers, I followed him inside, uncaring that any might see and find it odd. Aragorn was still too exhausted to take care of himself. I helped him remove the raiment that I had helped him don mere hours before. When he was clad only in his leggings, he collapsed on the bed. “Hannon chen,” he murmured, eyes closing again as his exhaustion claimed him.

“Ihdo,” I whispered. When he did not answer, I leaned over and brushed a gentle kiss across his brow. “Maer dú, melethen,” I added before slipping out the door and back to the tent Gimli and I had elected to continue to share.

I could not help but wonder how my life would have been different had I made the same vow I made that night on the night when Aragorn first discovered his identity. As the memories of that time rush through me, three hundred and twenty years later, I wonder still.

Chapter 125

Two days later, we gathered on the fields of the Pelennor: soldiers of Gondor and of Rohan, the remnant of the Nine Walkers, and the sons of Elrond. Aragorn rode proudly through the ranks, inspecting the troops before we rode out. As he passed, the soldiers of Gondor sent up shouts of joy, promises of loyalty, oaths of fealty. He was clad again in the vestments of the King, though this time, a vest of chain mail rested between the undertunic and the outer, and other armor covered his shoulders and his legs. For the first time, he appeared before his people in the garb of the King, and he was all that they could have desired: regal, handsome, powerful. The nobility I had first sensed in him long ago was finally revealed in all its glory. Boromir had been the first to swear fealty to the King thus revealed. Though I will always regret not being the first to do so, I believe Aragorn needed Boromir’s faith in order to do what he needed to do. My oath was no less powerful for being second, just as the soldiers’ oaths lost none of their power for coming after mine. 

The last person he met as he inspected his troops was Prince Imrahil. The Prince bowed low in his saddle. “Your army, my liege,” he said formally. Aragorn’s regal nod accepted Imrahil’s pledge and his offer. He looked up to see his other captains – Éomer, with Merry behind him in pride of place for his role in killing the Witchking and saving Éowyn, Gandalf, with Pippin in tow as always, the twins, and Gimli and me – ready as well. At his signal, the trumpets rang out and our army began to move. Troop by troop, company by company, we headed eastward to death, perhaps, but to a death that would, we hoped, allow for a final victory. By noon, we reached Osgiliath where work was already underway to fortify the city again. 

We did not linger as we passed through, but pushed on so that we camped that night at the Crossroads. No sign of any enemy met our eyes, no cry or call, no shaft speeding from rock or thicket by the way, but I could feel the watchfulness of the land itself as we went forward. Tree and stone, blade and leaf were listening, waiting to see what would happen next in this land that had been so heavily disputed for so long.

Aragorn set trumpeters at each of the four roads. When the silvery blasts echoed into silence, he called out loudly, “The Lords of Gondor have returned and all this land that is theirs they take back.”

A statue stood at the Crossroads of a King of old, but the head had been knocked down and an Orc head set upon the carven figure. The soldiers, seeing this, cast down the mockery and broke it into pieces, restoring the old King’s head to its rightful place, still crowned with white and golden flowers.

On the second day out, we rode to the entrance of Morgul Vale. We had decided not to attack Minas Morgul so as not to draw the eye of the enemy toward where Frodo had planned to pass, but we broke the bridge and set flame to the deserted barracks before we departed.

The third day, we turned north to the Morannon. We went openly but carefully, with mounted scouts and the Rangers of Ithilien on careful watch. We wanted Sauron to know we were coming, but we also wanted to survive to reach our destination. As we marched, the trumpets would blow periodically, and the heralds would shout again the words that Aragorn had proclaimed at the Crossroads. After hearing this several times, Imrahil approached us. “Say not the lords of Gondor. Say King Elessar, for that is true, even though he has not yet sat upon the throne. It will give the Enemy more thought, if the heralds use that name.” Reluctantly Aragorn agreed, and thus the heralds proclaimed. None answered the challenge.

The next day, our scouts returned, warning us of an ambush ahead. With the knowledge of the Rangers from Henneth Annûn to guide us, we turned the ambush on our enemies, outflanking them and driving those we did not kill into the hills to the east. We rejoiced still to be alive, but we knew that the victory was not complete. Sauron was toying with us. From that evening onward, the Nazgûl flew above us, shadowing our every move. They flew high enough that only I could see them, but their presence could be felt by every heart as a deepening of shadow. They did not swoop low and they uttered no cry, but the dread of them could not be shaken off.

For two more days we marched, until we came at last to the Morannon, overlooking the Black Gates. On Aragorn’s orders, the army formed ranks, ready to face whatever came out of those gates.

“Where are they?” Pippin wondered aloud.

Aragorn did not answer, but gestured for his captains to ride forward. We advanced on the gates, Aragorn and a soldier bearing his banner, Gandalf with Pippin, Éomer with Merry, and Gimli and I. Five horses, eight riders, to challenge the authority of Sauron. And who better? Between us, we represented all the free peoples of Middle Earth: Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits, Men of Rohan and Gondor, even the Istari.

“Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth!” Aragorn called when we reached the Black Gates. “Let justice be done upon him! For wrongfully he has made war upon Gondor and wrested its lands. Therefore the King of Gondor demands that he should atone for his evils, and depart then forever.”

For several long minutes, nothing happened. There was silence within the wall and without. Then, a door was thrown open and an embassy rode out, a rider at its head robed all in black and wearing a black helm. “I am the Mouth of Sauron,” he said when he drew near enough that we could speak. “Is there anyone in this rout with authority to treat with me?” he asked. “Or indeed with wit to understand me? Not you at least,” he mocked Aragorn. “It takes more to make a King than a piece of Elvish glass, or a rabble such as this. Why, any brigand of the hills can show as good a following.” I bristled at the insults, but I had learned my lesson at the council in Rivendell. I would let Aragorn fight his own battles. He did not respond in words, but he caught the other’s eye and held it until Sauron’s messenger quailed and flinched away as if menaced with a blow. “I am an ambassador, and may not be assailed,” he cried.

“Where such laws hold,” Gandalf replied, “it is also the custom for ambassadors to use less insolence. But no one has threatened you. You have naught to fear from us until your errand is done. But unless your master has come to new wisdom, then with all his servants you will be in great peril.”

“So,” the messenger answered, “thou art the spokesman, old greybeard? Have we not heard of thee at whiles, and of thy wanderings, ever hatching plots and mischief at a safe distance? But this time thou hast stuck out thy nose too far, Master Gandalf, and thou shalt see what comes to him who sets his foolish webs before the feet of Sauron the Great. I have tokens that I was bidden to show to thee – to thee in especial, if thou shouldst dare to come.” I had no idea what he was talking about, but I was sure it boded ill. And I was right. The messenger laid at our feet the short sword Sam had carried, a grey cloak with an Elvish brooch, and the coat of mithril mail that Frodo had worn. Pippin let out a cry of dismay at seeing them.

“So you have yet another of these imps with you,” the messenger cried. “What use you find in them I cannot guess; but to send them as spies into Mordor is beyond even your accustomed folly. Still, I thank him, for it is plain that this brat at least has seen these tokens before, and it would be vain for you to deny them now.”

“I do not wish to deny them,” Gandalf said gravely as I struggled still to accept what these tokens might mean. “Indeed, I know them all and their history, and despite your scorn, foul Mouth of Sauron, you cannot say as much. But why do you bring them here?”

“Maybe he that bore these things was a creature that you would not grieve to lose, and maybe otherwise, one dear to you perhaps? If so, take swift counsel with what little wit is left to you. For Sauron does not love spies, and what his fate shall be depends now on your choice.”

None of us spoke, but our fear for Frodo must have been written clearly on our faces for the messenger smiled. “Good, he was dear to you, I see. Or else his errand was one that you did not wish to fail? It has. And now he shall endure the slow torment of years, as long and slow as our arts in the Great Tower can contrive, and never be released, unless maybe when he is changed and broken, so that he may come to you, and you shall see what you have done. This shall surely be unless you accept my Lord’s terms.”

“Name the terms,” Gandalf said, defeat and anguish clear in his voice.

And the Mouth of Sauron explained what the Dark Lord desired: that our army retreat beyond the Anduin, taking oaths never to attack Sauron again and to give over Isengard to Sauron’s command and to pay tribute to him. Gandalf challenged the ambassador, asking what surety Sauron would give in exchange for these vows. The messenger did not answer, saying only that those were the terms. “Take them or leave them!” he shouted.

“These we will take,” Gandalf shouted suddenly, casting aside his cloak much as he had done in Edoras to reveal the truth of his power, and retrieving Frodo’s possessions, “but as for your terms, we reject them utterly. Get you gone, for your embassy is over and death is near to you. Be gone!”

I looked over to where Pippin sat behind Gandalf, tears rolling down his face at hearing Gandalf refuse to save his friend. I wanted to explain that Gandalf had no choice, that we could not give in to Sauron on the vague hope that Frodo was still alive and would be returned to us. I held out little hope for Frodo, but one thing puzzled me still. If Frodo was captured and Sauron had the Ring, why had he not proclaimed it? Why try to negotiate? My only answer was that somehow, Sauron had not gotten the Ring when he captured Frodo. And if that was the case, there was still hope. I met Aragorn’s eyes and could read the same thoughts on his face as I had had. 

There was still hope.


	26. Chapters 126-130

Chapter 126

The great Gates began to open then. Behind them, we could see a huge army of Orcs. “Fall back!” Aragorn shouted. “Fall back!”

We did as Aragorn ordered, riding back to join our army. I could see their fear written on their faces, as the army seemed to collectively take a step back.

“Hold your ground!” Aragorn ordered, riding in front of the first row. “Hold your ground!”

When he was sure he had the attention of every last man, he spoke again, “Sons of Gondor, of Rohan! My brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me! A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship. But it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields, when the age of Men comes crashing down. But it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth. I bid you stand, Men of the West!” 

The shouts from the army were deafening as Aragorn’s words reminded them why we fought. Each man in the army behind me had a reason: a wife, a child, a sister or brother, mother or father, someone to love and to defend. My eyes settled on Aragorn as he drew his sword. There was one of my reasons. However unrequited, I loved him, and I would die defending him. My other reason was in Rivendell, clinging to life, waiting for the outcome of what we would do that day. I loved her as well, my Arwen. The King and Queen of my heart. I would fight for them that day, and if I died, it would be for them as well, to keep them alive and give them a life worth living.

We dismounted, for this was no battle for the cavalry, and drew our swords as the army of Orcs surrounded us, but at a distance, waiting for a signal to begin. At my side, Gimli fingered his axe. “I never thought I'd die, fighting side by side with an Elf,” he said.

I knew he was trying to make me laugh, or at least smile, but the chances were good that we would die, and I did not want that to happen with even a joking enmity between us. “What about side by side with a friend?” I asked.

“Aye, I could do that,” he replied. 

At that moment, the Eye of Sauron focused on us, particularly on Aragorn. But that was what we wanted. We wanted Sauron so focused on us that he was blind to all else that moved. That the Eye was still there, non-corporeal, was all the proof I needed that Sauron had not yet recovered the Ring. If he had it, he would be there in front of us, not still caught as a malicious spirit on the top of Barad-Dûr.

A red, pulsating light surrounded us as Sauron tried one last time to break our resolve. “Aragorn,” a voice whispered. Aragorn did not react. “Elessar.” That brought a nod of Aragorn’s head. The murmuring continued in the Black Speech, incomprehensible to me. I would have said to us, except that Aragorn reached for the Evenstar as the voice went on. It made me wonder what threats Sauron had made against Arwen, that Aragorn clung to her favor. When he broke the mesmerizing spell and turned back to us, he had tears in his eyes.

“For Frodo,” he said, and I understood. No one other than he and I, except perhaps the twins, would fight for Arwen’s sake. But everyone realized the importance of Frodo’s mission and the very real threat that Sauron’s emissary had laid out against him. I nodded and he charged. Merry and Pippin followed instantly. With a shout, the rest of the army followed, quickly overtaking the Hobbits, but not Aragorn. He reached the lines of the enemy first. I fired from behind him, to protect him, as he parried and spun, breaking through the enemy lines. While distance allowed, I used my bow, knowing it would be knife work once we were in close quarters. We fought with desperate cunning, Gimli to one side, the twins to the other, trying to keep Aragorn in view, trying to protect the future of Middle Earth, for if Aragorn fell, the future was dim even if we defeated Sauron. Though I saw soldiers go down, we killed many more Orcs than they killed Men, and Aragorn was still standing, still fighting, still breathing. Overhead, the Nazgûl began to swoop and to shriek, the Black Breath striking fear into many hearts, but we fought on. To stop was to die.

Then I saw my worst nightmare coming to pass. A giant troll was approaching Aragorn’s position. Aragorn saw it and parried its first blow, but the monster was enormous, easily twice Aragorn’s size. He was fighting the creature alone, despite being surrounded by soldiers. Whether they did not see the beast or were afraid to engage it, I did not know, but I had to get to Aragorn’s side. I pushed forward, knocking soldiers out of the way, uncaring of who I sent to the ground as I struggled to reach his side. He went down and the troll raised its foot. I screamed Aragorn’s name, though I have no doubt he could not hear me over the din of battle. I had sworn myself to Aragorn’s service, sworn to myself that he would not die while I still stood, but it was happening before my very eyes. I was being foresworn, and I could do nothing to stop it. As I continued to rush toward Aragorn, I heard a shout and a different shriek, but I did not risk a glance upward as the great Eagles attacked the Nazgûl over our heads. My sole concern was Aragorn. 

Then, the troll looked away, back toward the Black Gate and Mordor. Again I did not look up to see what it saw, but whatever it was cast fear into the beast’s heart and it fled, leaving Aragorn bruised, but alive. I reached his side and helped him to his feet as the rest of the army of Orcs disengaged. To our astonishment, the tower of Barad-Dûr began to crumble, and the Eye that had wreaked so much havoc was extinguished. The force with which the tower fell sent out a wave of destruction that extended all the way to the Black Gate and the Towers of Teeth on either side, stopping just short of the ground on which we stood. Our ploy had been successful. We had drawn Sauron’s attention long enough for Frodo to complete his task. I saw Merry’s grin as he called Frodo’s name.

We were just about to celebrate our victory when Mount Doom exploded, sending great floods of molten rock down the sides of the mountain. “Frodo!” Pippin cried. Our joy in victory was overshadowed by our sudden worry for the savior of us all. Gandalf called for the Eagles, who bore him up and out over the fields of destruction, hoping against hope that they would find Frodo and Sam alive.

I drew the two Hobbits close to me. There would be rejoicing all over Middle Earth regardless of what Gandalf found, but there would be no celebration for the Fellowship if Gandalf did not find them. Gimli and Aragorn joined us, and we waited in silence for Gandalf to return.

Elvish translations

Perian – Hobbit

Chapter 127

All around us and behind us, soldiers milled about in confusion until Éomer took charge, ordering those still standing to see to the dead and the wounded. Elladan and Elrohir located our horses, all gathered around Shadowfax and waiting for us to need them again. I was peripherally aware of all of this, but my attention was focused eastward and skyward as I watched for the Eagles to return, hopefully with a very precious cargo. I strained to see through the steam and the dust from the volcano and the fallen towers, to keep track of the Eagles’ flight, but I lost track of them when they neared Mount Doom. We waited and waited.

“What do you see?” Merry asked softly, seeing me squinting into the distance.

“Nothing yet,” I replied.

Silence engulfed us again. There was nothing to say. Not until we knew something, anything more than that Frodo had succeeded against all odds. 

“What’s taking so long?” Gimli grumbled beside me. I had no answer for him. It had seemed to me that the Eagles were almost at the mountain when I lost sight of them. They should have been returning already.

“Patience,” Aragorn countered. “He has already done the impossible. Do not lose faith now.”

“But how could anyone survive that… that…?” Words failed Pippin, and again I had no answer. It seemed unlikely that Frodo and Sam had survived the cataclysm brought on by the destruction of the Ring. But then, it had seemed unlikely that two Hobbits led by a twisted creature like Gollum could destroy the Ring, and they had done so. We just had to hold on to hope for a little while longer.

Without my conscious direction, my hand sought Aragorn’s, seeking hope. He took it willingly, reaching for Merry who reached for Pippin. He in turn reached for Gimli and the circle came back to me when Gimli reached for my other hand. We stood silently again as I scanned the horizon. 

Through the mist, I could see the Eagles once more, but I could not tell if they had found Frodo and Sam. “They are coming,” I said softly.

“Frodo and Sam?” Pippin asked immediately.

“I cannot tell. They are still too far away,” I replied. 

As the Eagles drew closer, I could see that they carried the Hobbits in their talons. “They have them,” I said with a sigh of relief, “but they are carrying them. They may be hurt.”

Aragorn dropped my hand and reached immediately for the pouch he usually carried at his waist that held his healing supplies, but it was not there. He had left it behind with the rest of his Ranger gear. I heard the curse slip out under his breath, but I had nothing to offer him. I was not a healer and carried nothing with me except when I traveled alone. Then I remembered. We were not traveling alone, and Elrohir, like his father, was a healer.

As the Eagles hovered, passing their precious burdens into Aragorn’s and Gimli’s waiting arms, I looked for the twins. Gandalf slid from Gwaihir’s back. “They are alive, but barely,” I heard him say. “They need your help.”

“Elrohir,” I shouted, hoping he would hear me. He came running almost immediately. “Aragorn needs athelas.” 

Elrohir nodded and handed his healer’s pouch to his foster brother. Aragorn did not hesitate. He ripped into the pouch and drew out the athelas leaves, crushing them between his fingers and blowing on them before laying them gently on Frodo’s and Sam’s foreheads. I heard a ripping sound and then Merry was handing Aragorn two strips of cloth torn from his linen undershirt. He smiled his thanks, and wrapped the cloth around their heads, holding the leaves in place. Pippin handed him one more strip, pointing to Frodo’s hand. Mutely, Aragorn bandaged the damaged limb, though he could do nothing more with the supplies at hand. “They need more treatment than I can give them here,” Aragorn told Gandalf, “but this will keep them alive until they reach Minas Tirith. Will the Eagles bear them one more time?”

“We would bear them,” Gwaihir answered, “even if they were made of stone.” Gandalf mounted the Windlord again, and the other two Eagles lifted Frodo and Sam gingerly in their talons.

“I will do my best for them and see that the healers do as well,” Gandalf said from the back of the Eagle, “but make haste. They will need you.” And he signaled the Eagles who took flight toward Minas Tirith.

Éomer had joined us for the end of the conversation. “Take your horses and ride hard,” he said. “Prince Imrahil and I can do what needs to be done here. You need not wait for the army.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Aragorn said.

Éomer smiled. “Thanks are not needed between friends. Go, your brothers have your horses ready.”

We turned to see that the twins held Brego’s and Arod’s bridles, waiting for us to take them. We mounted quickly, Gimli behind me, Pippin with Aragorn. As Elladan and Elrohir swung onto their own mounts, Elladan reached down and scooped up Merry. “You shall ride with me, Master Perian.”

It had taken us six days to reach the Black Gates with an army in tow. It took us a day and a half to return to Minas Tirith. Arod and Brego were not half-Mearas like my father’s horses always were, but they were the best the Rohirrim had to offer and they ran like they understood the urgency. Perhaps they did, for Shadowfax kept pace with us the entire time, neighing and nickering as if offering words of encouragement.

Elladan took charge of the horses when we arrived in Minas Tirith, leaving the rest of us free to seek Frodo and Sam in the Houses of Healing. They were still unconscious, bowls with athelas in them at their bedsides. Aragorn immediately changed the water and leaves, having found fresh plants during a rest on our return trip. The familiar freshness cleansed the air in the room and the two Hobbits breathed more easily. Aragorn did not try to wake them, much to Merry’s and Pippin’s dismay.

“Look at them,” Aragorn told the two Hobbits. “They are clearly exhausted. They need to sleep in order to recover. Do not fear, my friends. They will wake when they are ready. This is not the same sleep that threatened you, Merry, or that threatened Éowyn and Faramir. This is healing sleep.”

He shooed the Hobbits out, then, telling them to arrange for a meal for all of us. The thought of food distracted them, as he had surely known it would, giving him a little more privacy to examine the Hobbits. Sam had lost weight and was covered with scrapes and bruises, but he appeared otherwise unharmed. Frodo was in much worse shape. Besides his missing finger, for which I could come up with no logical explanation, he had a new wound on his shoulder. That one I recognized. I had seen enough spider bites in Mirkwood to identify the injury. Cirith Ungol. Pippin had mentioned that name when talking about his meeting with Faramir. Pass of the Spider. Frodo had clearly met up with the spider for which the pass was named. The abrasions around his neck were deep, but clean. The healers had bandaged them well and I could see a difference already, even after less than two days. Frodo was healing physically, as well as could be expected, but I wondered if he would ever truly feel whole again. When Aragorn and Elrohir had done what they could, Aragorn left instructions with the healers and went to bathe and rest. I did the same, though more slowly. Something else had caught my eye. I stayed in the shadows at the entrance to the garden, not wanting to disturb the occupants, but I wanted to be sure of what I was seeing. There, on one of the benches, sat Faramir and Éowyn. It was not so surprising that they had met. After all, they had both been confined to that House for some days. What had caught my eye was not simply their presence in the garden, but the smile on Éowyn’s face. I had seen that smile only once before, on the road to Helm’s Deep, when Éowyn still though she might have a chance to catch Aragorn’s attention. This time, though, the smile was answered with one of equal joy and beauty. Aragorn had not been able to offer his heart to help Éowyn recover, nor had I, but the Steward of Gondor apparently had. I was glad to see it, and I made haste to tell Aragorn, not to gossip, but to lighten a load I knew he still carried.

I could see some of the tension leave him at my news, but a shadow still weighed on him, one I could not relieve. We had survived. Frodo and Sam had survived. Éowyn had survived and would flourish with Faramir’s love. This we knew. We did not know, however, if we had been swift enough to ensure that Arwen survived.

It took twelve days for Frodo to wake from his healing sleep. Sam had awoken finally the day before, but Frodo dreamed on. Aragorn, Gimli, and I were on our way to check on him as we did every day when we heard Gandalf’s laughter mingled with a sound we had feared never to hear again: Frodo’s laughter. Merry’s and Pippin’s joined in almost immediately. Gimli ran on ahead, eager to see our Ringbearer, our hero. I heard Frodo call Gimli’s name as he passed through the doorway. Aragorn and I reached the door as Gimli’s laughter joined the sounds already filling the room. We stood by with smiles on our faces as the three Hobbits bounced exuberantly on Frodo’s bed. Merry and Pippin had matured, and yet they still had within them the same carefree joy that had so characterized them for as long as I had known them. I hoped Frodo, too, would be able to overcome his tribulations and find that joy again. As we waited for a calm that took its time coming, Sam appeared in the doorway as well, and I saw between him and Frodo the bond of shared danger, shared fear, shared victory. Whatever had happened to Frodo, and whatever happened later, Sam would always be there for him. I took comfort in that.

Merry and Pippin were chattering on the bed, asking all kinds of questions that Frodo clearly did not want to answer. Aragorn and Gandalf hushed them, and assured Frodo that he could tell his tale, or not, in his own time. I learned of the full tale, finally, many years later, when Aragorn showed me a copy of the Red Book, Bilbo’s and Frodo’s accounts of their adventures, and I was amazed when I realized the magnitude of what Frodo and Sam had faced in order to succeed. At the time, though, Frodo was not ready to think on those times, a shadow crossing his face at the mere mention of all that had transpired since we separated at the Falls of Rauros. Instead, Merry and Pippin talked of their adventures and what they knew of ours, telling Frodo and Sam all about the Ents and Edoras, about the Witchking and the battle at the Black Gates. Frodo listened for a while, but he was clearly not completely recovered. Finally, Aragorn chased the two younger Hobbits from the room, promising them they could visit again the next day. Frodo’s eyes filled with gratitude as we left him to rest, Sam at his side as always, to guard his sleep.

Elvish translations

Gwathel – sworn sister

Hannon chen – thank you

Meldir – friend

Telo – come

Chapter 128

More days passed, punctuated by visits with Frodo and Sam and by preparations for Aragorn’s coronation. I spent most of my time with Gimli and the twins. Early on, after the last battle, I had asked the twins for news of Arwen, but they had none. She had been alive but failing when last they heard from their father. That news had sent them south to Minas Tirith to join us and the fight against Sauron. They had heard nothing since.

Gimli had warmed toward the twins since their arrival. He had seen them fight, and he had seen Elrohir provide what Aragorn needed to heal Frodo and Sam. As time passed and they continued to treat him with respect, he returned the favor and I was pleased to see my oldest friends and my newest becoming friends in their own right. It boded well for the future that Gimli and I envisioned, bringing Elves and Dwarves to help restore Minas Tirith. Though each race would be doing different kinds of work, they would need to work together if we wanted to make Aragorn’s city the marvel that we desired it to be.

It became a daily event, then hourly as the coronation drew near, for parties of riders to be sighted first on the horizon and then in the city. All of Middle Earth, it seemed, was turning out for the celebration. But the Elves did not come.

Aragorn moved through his new responsibilities mechanically, doing what needed to be done, but taking no joy in the doing. He spoke when spoken to, but was otherwise silent. He ate when food was put before him, but forgot to eat if no one insisted. He summoned smiles and good cheer for the Hobbits, but if we did not keep him engaged in the conversation, his face became somber again. If he were an Elf I would have said he was fading. And still the Elves did not come.

I wanted to remind him of my promise, to swear again that I would never leave him, but I did not speak of it. To speak of a future without Arwen seemed to be to tempt the Valar to create it. We had all survived with the exceptions of Boromir, Haldir, and Théoden. I dared not ask for more.

The day of Aragorn’s coronation dawned clear and cool. I was standing at my window, searching the horizon, when a knock sounded at my door. Elrohir came in, a grin of epic proportions on his face. “Tolo,” he said. I followed him to a small inn in the lowest level of the city.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“Wait and see,” he replied. I looked around the courtyard and noticed that the horses seemed unusually fine for an inn of this caliber. I followed Elrohir inside, and I understood the horseflesh, if not the situation. The Elves had come at last.

“Why here?” I asked in Elvish, not wanting to offend the innkeeper by seeming to suggest that his inn was not worthy of the Elves.

“Because I want to surprise him,” a voice said from behind me. I turned slowly, afraid of what I would see. Was she really there? Had she been changed by her ordeal? She was over twenty-five hundred years old. Would those years show on her face?

The hood of her cloak was thrown back, revealing the same beautiful face that I had loved for most of my life. My arms opened, and she flew into them, embracing me enthusiastically. “You are here,” I murmured against her hair as I held her. “You are truly here.” Wonder suffused my voice as I spoke.

She laughed at that, a silvery delicate sound that lifted my heart and soothed my soul. “Where else would I be?” she asked. I hugged her again and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Where else indeed,” I answered. “He fears that you are dead, or else that you no longer love him.”

“I know,” she told me. “I have always known what he feels.”

I realized as I spoke and heard her answer how my words must have sounded. “He has faced so much…” I began.

“You do not have to explain Aragorn to me,” she interrupted. “The years when we could not be together have taken their toll on him, as has my immortality. He has always been plagued with doubts and fears that only time can assuage. You took care of him for me. You did not let those doubts overcome him when I was not there to comfort him. I know that we are standing here now, having this conversation, because you pushed him and believed in him in ways he has never believed in himself. Hannon chen, meldir.”

“You have only ever had to ask, gwathel. I have never denied you anything in my power to give,” I assured her. It was more complicated than that, of course, with my own feelings for Aragorn adding to my motivation. And to my guilt, for all that she seemed unconcerned with what had passed between Aragorn and me in Lórien and in Helm’s Deep. But I did not speak of those times or those feelings. She had returned to Aragorn’s side and all the tomorrows of their life together stood before them. I would not shadow them by word or deed.

“Then I have one more favor to ask,” she replied. “Help me surprise him today.”

“Surprise him how?” I asked.

“I do not want him to know I am here until the coronation is complete. I want us to meet again finally with all the obstacles between us gone.”

I nodded and thought about the plans I had heard for the coronation. “Agreed,” I said. “Here is what we shall do.” And I laid out a plan to keep her and the other Elves hidden until after Aragorn had been crowned.

I did not think about what it would do to me to fulfill her wishes. I never did when she asked me for something. All I had ever cared about was that I could so something that would bring a smile to my love’s face, something that would tell her without words, since I could never say them, how much I loved her. I did not count the cost that day when she asked for my help, just as I did not count the cost when she asked me to be her Cuivië lover. She needed my help. That was all that ever mattered.

Elvish translations

Hannon chen – thank you

Meldis – friend (female)

Nach vain – you are beautiful

Chapter 129

I changed quickly when I arrived back in my room, attiring myself as a Prince of Mirkwood instead of a simple soldier. This was Aragorn’s coronation. I wanted my appearance to fit the occasion. Not that he would have eyes for me when he saw who walked beside me. But, if all went well, that would not be until after he was crowned. Fortunately, Elrond had thought of me when he left Imladris, bringing a formal robe that I could wear as befitted my station. He had handed it to me as I left the inn.

I had just finished putting in my braids when a knock sounded at my door. I opened it to find Arwen waiting. She took in my appearance with a single glance and smiled. “One thing more,” she said, reaching up to put the circlet proclaiming my rank on my forehead, tucking it carefully into my braids so that the ends would be hidden. I choked back a sob and forced myself to return her smile. The gesture was so painfully familiar. I could not begin to count the number of times she had put the finishing touches on my hair, or my robes, securing my circlet or pinning my clip or brushing out the folds. When we had been lovers, it was those little gestures that had made me hope she felt more for me than just friendship. I did not know what to think of her gesture that day. I knew only that it could not have been what I wanted; she loved Aragorn.

“Let me look at you,” I said, stepping back to put a safe distance between us. Even knowing that she was Aragorn’s as she had been for almost seventy years, her nearness was disturbing. As disturbing as it had been since I returned to Imladris just weeks before she reached her majority. My robes would hide any reaction, but to still have a reaction when I knew she was not mine seemed unworthy of her. She was even more beautiful than she had been that day. Her gown of palest yellow set off her skin and hair, but that was not what made the difference. It was the love that shone in her eyes that made the difference. She was happy. She was radiant. Anticipation had set her alight with an inner fire that nothing could ever match. Not even the fire that had burned in her eyes the night we became lovers. And I had to walk her to another’s side. I had to smile and pretend to be happy while the elleth I loved went to the Man I loved. “Nach vain, meldis,” I told her, offering her my arm so we could go.

We joined the throngs making their way to the courtyard of the Citadel. With Arwen at my side and the company of Elves ranging behind us, we found a place to stand where we could see all that would transpire. I looked around the courtyard as we waited, finding the familiar faces of the Fellowship, Éomer, Faramir, and Éowyn in the crowd. Gandalf and Gimli stood at the entrance to the Citadel, Gandalf to crown Aragorn, Gimli to hold his staff. The others stood in the front ranks along the aisle that would allow Aragon to pass.

Trumpets blew, a silvery sound heralding the arrival of the King. Regal and proud, Aragorn walked across the courtyard to stand before Gandalf, looking neither left nor right, acknowledging no one. He looked every inch the King, even without the crown. He had exchanged the black tunic for a purple one and the black cloak for a royal mantle. His hair was unbraided, in the style of the Men of Gondor. When Aragorn stood at the steps of the Citadel, Gandalf raised the winged crown of Gondor high for all to see before lowering it onto Aragorn’s head. “Now come the days of the King,” Gandalf announced. “May they be blessed.”

A cheer rose up from the crowd. I could see Aragorn draw a deep breath before turning to face them. The ceremony was just that: a symbol that made official a truth that everyone already knew. Aragorn had been King of Gondor since he challenged Sauron for the palantír and led the army of the West against him.

“This day does not belong to one man, but to all,” Aragorn said. “Let us together rebuild this world, that we may share in the days of peace.” His words were met by more cheers. Flowers drifted down from the Citadel, released by pages and serving girls in celebration. I hoped that they would be days of peace. Or rather, I hoped that I would find peace in those days, bereft of my loved ones as I would be. I continue to hope that I will find that peace.

When calm settled again on the courtyard, Aragorn began to sing. “Et Earello Endorenna utulien. Sinome maruvan are Hildinyar tenn Ambar-metta.” Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the word. The same words that Elendil spoke upon arriving in Middle Earth.

I searched his face as best I could from my self-imposed distance. I saw acceptance, but no joy. And how could there be joy? He had just accepted a crown that some small part of him still did not want or feel worthy of, and he believed that he was facing that dreaded future without the one person who would have made it all worthwhile: Arwen. The joy would come, I knew, as soon as he realized who stood at my side. And with the beginning of his joy would come the death of my dreams. They would be together as they had desired for so long. And I would be a bystander to their love, my vows to Aragorn, as my friend and my King, keeping me at his side, silent witness to all that I had desired but would never have.

When Aragorn finished the chant, he started down the aisle, greeting those who meant so much to him. Éowyn and Faramir bowed at his nod, smiles of joy on their faces. Éomer stepped forward and greeted him, King to King. Then, finally, he was coming toward me. I walked forward, trusting Arwen to stay behind the banner she carried until the right moment. The other Elves fell in line behind me. Aragorn’s hand came to my shoulder and mine to his, a warrior’s embrace, the only contact I would ever be allowed again.

“Hannon chen,” he said to me softly, his eyes still sad, though it eased a little as he looked at me. I wanted to remind him that he was not alone, would never be alone as long as I lived. I wanted to lean in and kiss him, kiss away the sadness and replace it with the joy he should be feeling, but it was not my kisses he sought. I smiled at the thought of the joy I was bringing him even as my heart broke because I would be only the indirect cause. I stepped a little to the left so he could look beyond me. I imagine he saw Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor first, since they were directly behind me with no banner to hide them. Then Arwen stepped forward, letting the banner flutter to the side as she placed it before him. Her eyes were downcast as she curtsied to him. The banner slipped from her hand, to be caught by Elladan as she waited for Aragorn’s reaction.

I watched the emotions flicker across their faces. Shyness dominated her face, as if she was not quite sure of her reception, given how they had parted. Disbelief touched his features first, as if he did not quite understand what his eyes were telling him, but it was quickly replaced with amazement and joy. His hand went to her face, raising her chin so their eyes met. Met and held.

He pulled her against him suddenly and his mouth descended on hers, kissing her with all the pent-up despair and desire of the terrible months of separation. Oblivious to the cheers of the crowd around them, he plundered her mouth, his kiss making clear to all who was the Queen of his heart. The cheers of the crowd must have penetrated eventually, for their mouths broke apart, smiles wreathing their faces. Aragorn twirled her around and kissed her again. Laughter and smiles surrounded me. Even Elrond was smiling, though I knew his, too, must have been bittersweet. This reunion meant the loss of his daughter as it meant the death of my love. They did not turn back to me, but I had not expected them to. They continued through the assembly, hands joined, to where the four Hobbits stood, so terribly uncomfortable among the notables of the Big Folk, as they were wont to call us. They bowed awkwardly to the new King, but Aragorn stopped them.

“My friends!” Aragorn exclaimed. “You bow to no one.” And he knelt in front of them, Arwen at his side. Everyone gathered, from the greatest to the least, followed suit. Even the Elflords beside me bent their knees in homage to the little ones who had saved us all.

The crowd dispersed slowly, those invited to the feast heading for the hall, the others returning to their homes. “It is good to see him happy after all this time,” Gimli said, appearing at my elbow.

“Aye, it is,” I replied, and despite my own pain, it was good. I was not the only one who had learned to measure my happiness in brief snatches of time. Aragorn and Arwen had been much apart as well since they had first met in Imladris and even after they had pledged their troth on Cerin Amroth. I did not know how often they had seen each other, but I knew enough of Aragorn’s life as a solider and Ranger to know that the visits had been few and far between. They deserved to be together after all they had been through.

“I know it is not their wedding, but it brings to mind my own,” Gimli said.

“You are married?” I asked, surprised. I remembered him saying in Lórien that I need not fear for his heart, but I had not asked beyond that and I had given it no thought since.

“I was,” he replied. “She was killed in a mining accident. But today is not a day for such thoughts. We should be making merry.”

I knew that making merry to Gimli meant drinking. The thought of the oblivion to be found therein suddenly appealed. “Lead on, my friend,” I said, summoning a forced smile.

Gimli looked at me oddly but said nothing more. He found ale for himself and I found wine, and we sat and drank. Aragorn and Arwen had eyes only for each other as they ate and then danced. Faramir and Éowyn were likewise never far from each other’s side. I even noticed Éomer paying court to Imrahil’s daughter, Lothiriel. It seemed that love was blooming all around me. Everywhere except in me.

I was on my third glass of wine when Gimli sat down beside me again. “It doesn’t get easier, does it, lad?”

I looked at him in surprised.

“Thirty years, she’s been gone, my Dís, but it doesn’t get easier to see others happy and in love.”

“Almost seventy,” I answered, “since I lost my beloved, and no, it has not gotten easier.”

“Will you tell me of her?” Gimli asked.

“Some day,” I promised, “but not today.” I could not speak of it, of them, when they were standing just across the hall. It had nothing to do with trusting Gimli. I just could not do it at a feast with the two I loved only a few feet away.

“Some other day then,” Gimli replied, and I nodded.

“Well, if we’re not going to talk, let’s drink!”

I tapped my glass against Gimli’s, drained my wine, and went in search of more. I was going to drown my sorrows if it killed me.

I do not remember the end of the feast. I vaguely remember walking with Gimli back to my room. I remember him helping me remove my circlet and robes. And I remember waking up in the morning with a headache that matched my heartache. If my knives had been within reach, I would have used them.

I was reaching for them, or for something, when a goblet was pressed into my hand, and Gimli encouraged me to drink. The foul brew almost made me choke, but it eased my headache. Gimli’s companionship helped my heartache, though nothing could cure it.

Elvish translations

Cuilen – my life

Guren – my heart

Gwedeir - brothers

Hannon chen – thank you

Hervennen – my husband

Hervessen – my wife

Melin chen – I love you

Chapter 130

Many expected the wedding to take place immediately, for it was clear that Aragorn and Arwen would wed. Their kiss at his coronation left no doubt about where his heart lay. With the rest of the Fellowship, minus Aragorn of course, I lived in a fair house in the city, having declined to stay in the Citadel with Aragorn and Arwen. The Hobbits were, if not restless, certainly ready to return home, but Aragorn asked them to wait. “A day draws near that I have looked for in all the years of my manhood, and when it comes, I would have my friends beside me.”

That he referred to his wedding seemed obvious enough, but the Hobbits did not understand the delay. Gandalf answered only, “Aragorn waits for a sign.”

There came a day, almost two months later, when Gandalf could not be found. And when I asked at the Citadel, I learned that Aragorn was missing as well. When they returned that evening, Aragorn carried a sapling no more than three feet high. It had long and shapely leaves, dark above and silver beneath, and upon its slender crown it bore one small cluster of flowers whose petals shone like the sunlit snow. I recognized it immediately as a tree in the line of Nimloth that Elendil had brought with him from Númenor.

In the courtyard, guards uprooted the withered tree with reverence and laid it in Rath Dínen among the great of Gondor. Then Aragorn planted the new tree in the court by the fountain. Within days, it was laden with blossoms, and all was right for the royal wedding.

With the long awaited sign at hand, planning for the wedding began in earnest. And Arwen came to me again for a favor. Her father, Gandalf, and Galadriel would conduct the ceremony that would bind her to Aragorn forever. She asked me to stand at her side, to bear witness to their union as her friend and as a representative of all the Elves. Aragorn, she explained would ask Faramir to do the same for him so that the laws of Elves and Men were upheld. I would have said no if I could have, but I could not refuse Arwen. It was such a small thing she asked of me. An hour of my time and my signature in the registry of Gondor. To refuse would have been churlish. When she left, having received my assent, I cried.

The tears flowed freely down my face as I remembered and wondered and cried. What had I done to deserve this fate? I asked the Valar. Silence was my reply. For an hour, I sat in my room in our little house, and still the tears did not stop. Night fell, and I continued to cry. I wrapped my Lórien cloak around my shoulders and snuck through the city to the royal gardens. There, in the shadow of the trees, I finally regained a modicum of control. I drew strength from the trees there, trying to rebuild the walls that held my emotions in check. I stayed in the gardens until the trees began to whisper to me of lovers. I did not wait to see who walked in the gardens with me. It did not matter who the lovers were. In my precarious state, I could not have borne any couple’s happiness. So I fled my haven, returning to the house and my room. The foray had given me back some control, at least.

Midsummer’s Day arrived, and the twins descended upon our house, under orders, apparently, to see me ready for the ceremony. I was dressed already when they arrived and was putting in the formal braids I wore for state affairs. Elrohir looked at the braids disapprovingly. “You will be the only Elf present not wearing lover’s braids,” he chided me.

I choked back a cry at his words. I had not worn lover’s braids in sixty-eight years. Not since Aragorn and I had fought in Rohan. I lay my head on the table where I sat. “How am I supposed to do this?” I asked, my words muffled by the sleeves of my robe. “How am I to wear lover’s braids and smile convincingly when the only two I have ever loved are binding themselves to one another before my very eyes?”

The twins embraced me, one on either side, holding me as I fought for control. I would not go to Arwen’s and Aragorn’s wedding with my eyes red from hopeless tears. I would not. They did not deserve that. “I do not know how you will do such a thing,” Elladan answered when I was once more in control. “I do not think I could if I had to watch Orophin bind himself to another, no matter how I felt about the other. For you, it is even worse, I know. All I can say is this. We will do all we can to help you.”

“Hannon chen, gwedeir,” I said. “You have ever been the best of friends. I landed myself in this situation. I will have to live with it. But it helps to know that someone understands.”

They embraced me again, and then Elladan put the lover’s braids in my hair as he had done over twenty-six hundred years before on the night of Arwen’s majority. Only she and Aragorn had ever tied them for me since.

When I trusted my control to hold, I walked with the twins to the courtyard of the Citadel where the wedding would take place. As for the coronation, the crowds packed the space, leaving only enough of an aisle for Aragorn and Arwen to walk down.

Elrond, Gandalf and Galadriel stood on the steps to the Citadel. Faramir was in his place already, dressed much as he had been at the coronation, polished breastplate covering a long tunic of deepest blue. I took my place opposite him and we waited for Aragorn and Arwen to arrive.

They arrived at the same time, but from opposite sides of the Citadel. I had seen Aragorn only rarely since the coronation. His time was taken up with the business of being the King. As he walked toward me, toward Arwen really, I drank in the sight of him. Not his clothes or his demeanor, but just his presence. I was coming to understand that all the promises in the world could not restore what I had lost when I refused to say the words he wanted to hear. He would be my King, and I would serve him however I could, staying in Arda, fighting not to fade and to resist the sea-longing for as long as he lived, but that service would not give me back the lover I had lost. I would never again know the touch of his lips, the rasp of his beard against my face, the feel of his hands on my skin or his skin under my hands. He was as lost to me as if he were already dead. 

Aragorn and Arwen met at the steps and turned to face Elrond, Gandalf and Galadriel. Elrond stepped down to stand directly in front of them. He took Arwen’s hand in his and placed it in Aragorn’s. Then he stepped back to his place beside Gandalf.

“Look at Arwen’s hands,” Gandalf instructed Aragorn. “These are the hands of your best friend that are holding yours on your wedding day, as she pledges her love and commitment to you all the days of her life.”

So it began. I forced my eyes to stay open and my smile to stay in place as Gandalf reminded Aragorn of all that Arwen would be to him. And reminded me of all she could never be to me. 

“These are the hands that will hold each child in tender love, soothing them through illness and hurt, supporting and encouraging them along the way, and knowing when it is time to let go.” They would have children, of course. They were in love. They were creating a family. I would be alone.

“These are the hands that will massage tension from your neck and back in the evenings after you have both had a long hard day.” Those hands had once helped relieve my tension, but no more. That was Aragorn’s right, not mine. Not anymore.

“These are the hands that will hold you tight as you struggle through difficult times. These are the hands that will comfort you when you are sick, or console you when you are grieving.” Just as she had cared for me when I was injured. Who would care for me once they were married? I wondered.

“They are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, for a lifetime of happiness. These are the hands that will hold you in joy and excitement and hope, each time she tells you that you are to have another child, that together you have created a new life. These are the hands that will give you support as she encourages you to chase your dreams.” They were the hands that would never touch me again, never again bring me pleasure and joy. I had no more dreams to chase. Never again.

Then Gandalf turned to Arwen. “Look at Aragorn’s hands,” he told her. Their grip changed as she did as he asked so that she was holding Aragorn’s hands in hers. “These are the hands of your best friend that are holding yours on your wedding day, as he promises to love you all the days of his life. These are the hands that will work along side yours, as together you build your future, as you laugh and cry, as you share your innermost secrets and dreams.” Aragorn and I had shared secrets, but I had never dared to share the ones closest to my soul. If I had, perhaps… but I could not allow that thought to form. If I did, I would never be able to stay until the end.

“These are the hands you will place with expectant joy against your stomach, until he, too, feels his child stir within you.” I would never know that feeling. I would never feel a child of mine stir. Or wake or sleep. Cry or laugh. I would never know that joy.

“These are the hands that look so large and strong, yet will be so gentle as he holds your baby for the first time. These are the hands that will protect you and your new family.” He had fought to protect her when he would not have fought for anything else. She would never have to fear on that score. But who would fight for me?

“These are that hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, for a lifetime of happiness. These are the hands that will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes: tears of sorrow and tears of joy.” I knew the passion those hands could inspire, and the gentleness with which they could wipe away tears. I envied her. She would be the recipient of the caresses of those hands. I had lost that right years ago.

“These are the hands that will comfort you in illness, and hold you when fear or grief wrack your mind.” How well and recently I knew the comfort those hands could bring! He had brought me back from the brink of death with the power of those hands. And that power was lost to me. Forever.

“These are the hands that will tenderly lift your chin and brush your cheek as they raise your face to look into his eyes: eyes that are filled completely with his overwhelming love and desire for you.” I could see his eyes as he watched her looking at his hands. They were as Gandalf said: full of overwhelming love and desire. He did not look up, did not meet my eyes, but I do not think he would have seen me even if he had looked my way. He had eyes only for her. And I had eyes only for them.

Gandalf stepped back, and Galadriel and Elrond stepped forward. Galadriel reached out and touched the Evenstar that hung in pride of place around Aragorn’s neck. “From her mother’s family,” she said softly. “May Varda bless you always.” Elrond, then, took a necklace from the pocket of his robe and placed it around Arwen’s neck. “This was Gilraen’s,” he told his daughter. “May Manwë bless you always.” It took me a moment to remember that Gilraen was Aragorn’s mother.

I wondered how Elrond and Galadriel could stand before Aragorn and Arwen and bless them as they were doing. I wondered how they could let her go. Elrond was losing his daughter. Galadriel was losing her granddaughter. Yet they asked for the blessings of the Valar and consecrated her choice.

The time came for Aragorn and Arwen to exchange their vows. “What have I to give you, Arwen?” Aragorn asked. “The promise to take you as my only love from this day forward, to stand by your side, to listen when you speak, to comfort you when you cry, and to join your laughter with my own all the days of my life. Take this ring, and be my wife. Guren, cuilen, hervessen. Melin chen.” As he spoke, he drew off the ring of Barahir, emblem of his family line, and placed it on her finger.

“What have I to give you, Aragorn?” Arwen asked when her turn came. “The promise to take you as my only love from this day forward, to stand by your side, to listen when you speak, to comfort you when you cry, and to join your laughter with my own all the days of my life. Take this ring, and be my husband. Guren, cuilen, hervennen. Melin chen.” She withdrew a ring from a pocket in her gown and placed it on Aragorn’s finger. All the days of her life. That should have been forever. But those days were numbered, by her own choice, because of the vows she made that day. My heart, they had sworn. My life, they had promised. They were those things to me as well. Only the last, my wife and my husband, they would never be.

“Now you will feel no pain, for each of you will be shelter to the other,” Galadriel said. I would live in pain...

“Now you will feel no cold,” Elrond continued, “for each of you will be warmth to the other.” …and cold…

“Now there is no loneliness for you,” Gandalf added, “for each of you will be compassion to the other.” …and loneliness…

“Now you are two persons, but there is one life before you,” they said in unison. “Go now to your dwelling place, to enter into the days of your togetherness. And may your days be good and long upon this earth.” …for the life before me was as empty as my world would be. They would be together. I would be alone.

This feast differed little from the coronation feast. All that had changed was my drinking partner. Gimli spent most of his time with Galadriel. I spent mine with Elrohir who, like me, was alone. He did not pressure me to talk. He simply made sure that I ate as I drank so that I would still be standing at the end of the feast. I wanted to slip away, to disappear and leave everyone else to celebrate, but it was bad form to leave before the newly wedded couple, and I was the Prince of Mirkwood. The Valar forbid that I should act in bad form. Even if my heart was breaking. 

Elrohir did his best to fend off those who wanted to share the joy of the celebration with me, but not even he could be two places at once. And so while he kept the attention of one noble who wanted to talk about what a beautiful, fated love there was between the King and Queen of Gondor, I found myself trapped by another who wanted to hear the whole tale from one who would surely know it well. After all, Queen Arwen would surely not have picked me to be her witness if I were not a dear, close friend. That was true. I did not think the woman in front of me wanted to know just what kind of friend I had been at different times to both the Queen and the King, but I kept my thoughts to myself.

“They met when they were very young, I heard,” the woman said. I wondered if she had any idea what she was talking about, but I answered her anyway. It seemed the fastest way to get rid of her. “They met sixty-eight years ago.”

“And they have waited all that time to be together,” she sighed. “What a beautiful tale. And all they sacrificed to be together. Such a love comes so rarely. Once in an Age,” she gushed.

I could not bear it anymore. I excused myself abruptly and walked away, seeking solitude in a glass of wine and an empty balcony. Once in an Age. I threw the glass against the wall. Once in an Age. I had known the kind of love the woman spoke of, the kind for which I would have sacrificed myself willingly. And I had known it twice in an Age. And the two I had loved were dancing in each other’s arms, happily married, completely oblivious to what they had done to me. That was a lie. They were oblivious, but they had done nothing to me. I had done it all to myself. I grabbed another glass from a passing servant and drained it quickly. Elrohir joined me on the balcony. “There you are,” he said softly in Elvish. That provided us some privacy, at least from the prying ears of the court.

“You were right,” I told him.

“About what?” he asked.

“You told me my pride would be cold comfort if I lost Aragorn because of my pride. I have lost them both, ’Ro, and there is nothing I can do about it. My pride is cold comfort indeed.”

Before he could answer, I heard a cheer as Aragorn and Arwen left the feast. I left on their heels, though in the opposite direction, stumbling drunkenly back to the house and into my room. I managed to fumble out of my robes, but finding sleeping trousers was beyond me. I fell into bed, asleep almost before my head touched the pillow.

The dream, when it came, was both vivid and surreal. I knew I was dreaming. I recognized the scene instantly. The little waterfall above the Last Homely House. As I turned, I saw Arwen come into the clearing, and I saw myself following her. I was watching myself in the dream. I saw my dream self close his eyes to better use his other senses. I watched with bated breath as Arwen walked to him. When his eyes opened, she smiled. “Nach vain, pen-valthennen,” I heard her tell my dream self before she kissed him and fled. Our first kiss.

The scene changed, and my dream self was leading Arwen through the halls of Imladris. They went inside her room, and I was there with them, watching, as they kissed, exploring each other. His tongue invaded her willing mouth and tangled with hers, enticing it into his own mouth. His fingers drifted over her face, mapping her cheekbones and then her ears. She approved of the caress, moaning into his mouth as he played with the sensitive point. She squirmed beneath him and broke the kiss, hands reaching for his robes. He sat up and let her remove the outer robes, and the light shirt he wore beneath, but he stopped her when she would have undone his leggings. She ran tender hands over his chest, exploring the ridges of his muscles. She tickled, just a little, and he caught her hands, lifting them to his lips and kissing them. She promised not to tickle any more so he released them and she resumed her caresses. He lay back in the nest of pillows and let her have her way with him, arching into her delicate hands when they found his nipples and the sensitive spot just below his navel. She bent her head and tasted his skin, drawing moans of pleasure from him as she nipped teasingly at his flesh. He did not direct her or hurry her. He trusted that she would give him what they both wanted eventually. She sat up after a time, making him groan in frustration. She laughed at him and rose to remove her dress, revealing herself to him completely. He reached for her as she sank back into his loving embrace. His hands roamed as freely as hers had, cupping her breasts, kneading and squeezing until she cried out from the pure pleasure of it. He lifted her bounty to his lips and feasted, her arms cradling his head against her breast as he sucked and nibbled at her ruched nipples. Her head fell back as she pulled him more tightly against her, wanting more contact, more pressure. Just more.

The scene changed again. They were in the little cottage by the Bruinen, in bed. My dream self was naked. Arwen wore a thin robe, belted loosely at the waist. She knelt between his outstretched legs and reached for his arousal. His hands clenched in the sheets as she caressed him, fingers curling around his shaft and cupping the sacs. After a moment, she bent her head and lapped at the shaft, savoring the flavor on her tongue. It suited her, clearly, for she went back for more, one hand bracing herself on his stomach, the other still caressing his sacs as she drew him into her mouth, taking more each time until he was fully inside her. His head was thrown back, a look of complete ecstasy on his face as she made love to him. She drew him to the edge and paused, waiting for his control to reassert itself before beginning again at the weeping tip and working her way to the base. She brought him back to the trembling edge of release and again she stopped. He wailed her name in protest. She smiled mischievously and swallowed him whole, triggering his climax.

I blinked and they were in Mirkwood, in my room, my bed. They were both naked, skin glowing in the light of the fire that tinged his hair to red gold and hers to mahogany. His lips were on hers, her fingers tangled in his long hair as his fingers teased between her legs, rubbing her most sensitive flesh. One finger penetrated her core, sliding in and out with languid ease. She rocked her hips in time with the seductive caress, purring deep in her throat as he stroked her inner walls. He added another finger and picked up the pace, driving her harder, his thumb pressing on her hidden flesh with every pass. She was soon mewling with delight, trembling in his arms with the force of her climax.

The scene shifted again, to Arwen’s talan in Lórien. My dream self raised up on his elbows, looking up at Arwen’s flushed face, her legs draped over his shoulders as he licked his lips. She looked totally replete, but his eyes were still hungry. He let her legs slip to his side as he moved up her body, covering her completely. They kissed again, his lips obviously working to stir her passion again. When she writhed beneath him, he took himself in hand and slid inside her, joining their bodies. He moved slowly, keeping himself under tight control, until she was begging him for release. “Tell me,” he said softly.

“Melin chen,” she cried, the words I had always longed to hear on her lips. As she spoke, the body above her changed. It was no longer an Elvish form that made love to her, but a human one. Her fingers clutched no more at blond hair but at brown. Her lips no longer cried out my name. “Aragorn,” she sighed as they found their release together.

I jerked myself awake, tears streaming down my face. I had to get out of the city. I had to escape. I grabbed leggings and a tunic, pulling on my boots blindly. I ran from the house to the stables. I took the time for neither saddle nor bridle. I simply swung onto Arod’s back and begged him to take me away. I did not even care where. Just so long as it was away. He ran as if he understood my need, carrying me through the darkness of night, across the bridge at Osgiliath and into the trees of Ithilien. I slid helplessly from his back onto the loamy soil of the forest and sobbed my despair, my anger, my frustration, my loss to the trees.


	27. Chapters 131-135

Elvish translations

Maer dú – good night

Chapter 131

I felt my father’s mind brush mine as he sought to know what troubled me, but I pushed him away. I was not ready for his platitudes. It was an unfair reaction, for my father had never lectured me that way, but in my state of mind at the time, I knew only that he would feel sorry for me, and that would be enough to push me over the edge.

I withdrew into myself, pulling my mind in tightly, trying to control my thoughts, to focus them on anything but Arwen and Aragorn. It did not seem to work. For almost all of my life, Arwen had been there, a part of my life, either by her presence or by her absence, my time measured by when I could see her again or when I would have to leave her. That had changed only during my months with Aragorn, when I had focused completely on him. Only to have him leave me with a hole in my life, an absence of both of them, that would last forever. I would still see them, of course, since I had sworn fealty to Aragorn, but it would not be the same. Aragorn would greet me with a warrior’s embrace, as he had at the coronation, not with the lover’s embraces we had once shared. Arwen would hug me, as she had always done, but that would be all. Those hugs would not be the prelude to a kiss or to more. Their kisses, their love, were reserved for each other. I would be their friend, but I had longed to be so much more.

The sound of hoof beats penetrated the fog of emotions surrounding me. Arod whinnied and I heard another horse reply. Then there was the sound of clomping footsteps. I knew a moment of panic. I was unarmed. I had fled without my bow or my knives. I looked around for anything I could use as a weapon when I heard a familiar gruff voice. “Legolas?” Gimli called. “Where are you, lad?”

The rush of relief almost had me in tears again. “Here,” I called back so that Gimli could find me.

Gimli stomped to my side. “You’re quite a sight,” he said, taking in my mismatched clothes and tangled hair. “Not your usual style.”

I did not know how to answer that so I stayed silent. Elrohir appeared then. He saw us together and smiled. “Can you make sure Gimli gets back to Minas Tirith?” he asked me. “It would not do to lose one of the heroes of the war of the Ring.”

“I will,” I promised, though I knew it was, in fact, Gimli’s job to bring me back safely.

“Maer dú,” Elrohir said as he disappeared into the night.

“Why are you here?” I asked Gimli.

“I thought you might tell me that. That Elf, I cannot tell them apart, came rushing into the room where I was enjoying a smoke and a drink with the Hobbits, and dragged me outside, saying you needed me. I started for your room when he threw me on the back of that bloody beast of his and rode out here. So why don’t you tell me why I am here?”

The time for truth had come. At least, the time for some truth. I had no excuse of people around or something to attend to as a reason to put off the tale. And yet it was too much to lay out before him, in all its sordid misery. I would have to find a balance that would answer his questions and still preserve my sanity.

“It was too much,” I said, hoping he would understand. After all, he had his own memories of loss that surely must have weighed on him even as he celebrated. “The whole day was just more than I could bear. Arwen did not know what she was asking when she chose me to be her witness. To stand beside them, to see them so happy was…”

“Painful,” Gimli finished. “Aye, I know it. She does not know, then, about your lost love.”

“Nay, she does not know. Only my father and the twins know the whole story. Elrond knows a little. Galadriel as well. And you.”

“Fine company to be in, but I know little enough.”

“I loved,” I said simply, “but through my own stubborn pride, I lost the love that might have been mine. Today drove that home to me. I had a dream after I left the feast. It turned into a nightmare, and I had to get out. I hoped to find some peace beneath the trees.” All of that was true. I just neglected to tell him whom I loved, or exactly how I had lost them. Maybe speaking of my feelings to Arwen would not have changed anything. Maybe speaking to her would have made things worse. But I could have spoken to Aragorn. I chose not to speak and doomed myself to a life of loneliness

“And have you found any peace?” Gimli asked.

“I am just so tired.”

“Then sleep. I will keep watch, and we will return to the city in the morning.”

“Hannon chen. Thank you, my friend.”

“I suppose I’ll have to learn Elvish, then, since my life seems tangled up with Elves,” Gimli muttered.

I laughed. Despite my misery, my despair, my heartbreak, I laughed. “You are good for me,” I told Gimli.

“So it would seem. How did the twin know?”

I thought about it for a moment. “My father, I suppose.”

Gimli looked around suspiciously. “Where is your father?”

“In Mirkwood, where I left him, as far as I know. We have a… connection, I guess you could call it. My father can speak to my mind. In times of great distress, he can feel my pain. I refused him tonight. I did not want to hear what he had to say. He probably used his gift to speak with Elrond. Or maybe with Erestor, since I never know how he feels about Elrond. Whoever he told must have told Elrohir, thinking that he could help me. And he has seen enough of our friendship to know that your presence would be comfort to me. I am sorry to drag you from your drink and your pipe, but I am glad you are here.”

“Sleep, if you can,” Gimli advised me. I looked around and found a likely looking tree. Under Gimli’s tolerant stare, I leapt into the tree and settled myself in the juncture of two branches.

“Maer dú,” I said to Gimli from my perch.

“And what does that mean?” he asked grumpily.

“Good night,” I told him.

“Maer dú,” he repeated back to me. And then, to my amazement, I slept, guarded by my friend, undisturbed by dreams, cradled in the warmth of the forest.

Chapter 132

We rode back to Minas Tirith in the morning, after Gimli helped me straighten my hair and clothes enough that I would not look like I had been in a fight. The guards did not challenge us, recognizing us as friends of the King and as two of the Nine Walkers. I hoped they would keep quiet about having seen us. I did not want to be the subject of guardhouse gossip. Nor did I want word of our midnight trip making its way to Aragorn and Arwen. Even if they did not suspect the real cause, they would know that something was wrong. I was not given to flights of fancy so they would know that I had had a reason for leaving if they found out about it.

We stayed for a few more days in Minas Tirith until the time came to return Théoden to Rohan. Éomer and the Rohirrim returned from Edoras to escort the body of the King to his final resting place. That night, before our departure, Aragorn hosted another great feast in honor of Théoden and of the guests. Gimli and I stood to the side, content to watch the guests. It was easier to keep my façade in place when I sat and watched than if I circulated and socialized. The feast was drawing to a close when Éomer approached us. “Gimli, Glóin’s son, have you your axe ready?” Éomer asked.

“Nay, but I can speedily fetch it, if there be need,” Gimli replied. I wondered why Éomer was asking about Gimli’s axe. There were no foes to slay in Minas Tirith.

“You shall judge,” Éomer went on, “for there are certain rash words concerning the Lady of the Golden Wood that lie still between us. And now I have seen her with my eyes.” I remembered the conversation, then, that Éomer and Gimli had had at our first meeting on the plains of Rohan. Éomer had insulted Galadriel and Gimli had taken offense, but they had agreed to defer any discussion until Éomer could see the Lady himself.

“And what say you now?” Gimli asked.

“Alas, I will not say that she is the fairest lady that lives,” Éomer replied. That was not the answer Gimli expected, I knew, but I would have given the same answer as Éomer if Gimli had asked my opinion. Galadriel was beautiful, without a doubt, with a golden beauty she had passed on to her daughter, but another beauty, a dark beauty, held my heart.

“Then I must go for my axe,” Gimli said. I started thinking how to avert a fight. Aragorn would be displeased if Gimli and Éomer disrupted the feast with their difference of opinion.

“But first I will plead this excuse,” Éomer interrupted. “Had I seen her in other company, I would have said all that you could wish. But now I will put Queen Arwen Evenstar first, and I am ready to do battle on my own part with any who deny me. Shall I call for my sword?” That would have been my answer as well, if Gimli had asked me who was the fairest of the Elves. I waited to see how Gimli would react.

Gimli bowed to Éomer. “Nay, you are excused. You have chosen the Evening, but my love is given to the Morning. And my heart forebodes that soon it will pass away forever.” Morning, as Gimli called Galadriel, would pass away when she left Middle Earth, but Arwen would not endure forever either. I was not sure if Gimli understood what Arwen’s decision to wed Aragorn would do to her, but I understood. It would kill her in the end, as surely as if someone took a knife to her throat. I knew it was her choice, and I would never let her hear me say anything against it, but I wondered how Aragorn lived with her decision. He would not see her die, of course, since only his death would trigger hers, but the knowledge had to be there, in his heart, that when he died, either by the sword or the slow decay of time, Arwen would soon follow.

I turned away from Éomer and Gimli, not wanting them to read my thoughts on my face. I was fairly sure I could hide them from Éomer, but Gimli had proven surprisingly perceptive where I was concerned ever since our arrival in Helm’s Deep. I did not want him asking me about my state of mind there at the gathering.

The next day, we made ready to ride for Rohan. Aragorn and Éomer themselves went to the tombs in Rath Dínen and bore Théoden’s body out to the wagon that would carry him home. The Riders of Rohan surrounded the wain and bore his banner before it. Merry rode with Théoden’s body and carried the arms of the King.

The whole of the Fellowship accompanied the procession, along with the Elves and many of the nobles of Gondor, including Faramir, Imrahil and his daughter. Though all were mounted as befitted their stations, we rode slowly, our passing a way to announce Aragorn’s ascent to the throne while we were in Gondor and Éomer’s once we were in Rohan. For fifteen days, we traveled together, the wagon with Théoden’s body in the lead, Éomer, Aragorn, and Arwen just behind, and everyone else arrayed according to rank. I was content to accept this organization. It gave me time to accept my new reality, where Aragorn and Arwen were together, and I was an outsider. Even after they had chosen each other, I had never really been around them together. I had seen Arwen in Lórien, but Aragorn had not been there. They had both been in Imladris during the council, but we had spent little time together. Arwen had not accompanied us on the quest. This journey was the first time we had all had to coexist. They always smiled when they saw me, welcoming me into their circle as a friend, but I felt out of place, as if my presence somehow disrupted the balance of their lives. They were sufficient unto each other, while I was superfluous. I was grateful for Gimli. He always had time for me, to sit and share a drink, or a conversation. And I never felt as if I were in the way, as if I would have been better off elsewhere. As the only Dwarf, I think he often chose solitude in self-defense, though none looked down on him for his differences, but he always welcomed me at his side, whether I wanted to talk or be silent.

We came at last to the Golden Hall of Meduseld. It was the same and yet much changed. Gone were the darkness and the dampness that had tainted the hall when last we were there. Everything was light and fresh, and Théoden’s body lay in state for three days before his funeral. They buried him in a mound as they had done his son before, with his arms and other possessions placed with him. Then, as was their tradition, they sang of their kings, from Eorl down to Théoden. Much of it I did not understand, for they sang in their own language, but the last was in the common tongue. “Out of doubt, out of dark, to the day’s rising, he rode singing in the sun, sword unsheathing. Hope he rekindled, and in hope ended; over death, over dread, over doom lifted out of loss, out of life, unto long glory.”

Finally, the burial was finished, and Théoden was left alone in his barrow. Everyone gathered back in the Golden Hall for the great feast to put away sorrow. I had seen this before with the Rohirrim, after the battle at Helm’s Deep. They hailed all the dead, as they had done before, then they drank to their new King. When the toasts were all drunk, Éomer rose and spoke. “Now this is the funeral feast of Théoden King, but I will speak ere we go of tidings of joy, for he would not grudge that I do so, since he was as a father to Éowyn my sister. Hear then all my guests, fair folk of many realms, such as have never before been gathered in this hall. Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, asks that Éowyn Lady of Rohan should be his wife, and she grants it full willing. Therefore they shall be troth plighted before you all.”

I had expected some announcement of their relationship, having seen them together in Minas Tirith at the coronation, but it did not lessen the blow to my heart. They were not Aragorn and Arwen; they were not my loves. But they were another couple that had succeeded in finding happiness when I had failed. As I struggled to maintain my façade, they stood and joined hands. “Thus is the friendship of the Mark and of Gondor bound with a new bond, and the more I do rejoice,” Éomer declared.

“No miser are you, Éomer,” Aragorn said with a smile, “to give thus to Gondor the fairest thing in your realm!”

Éowyn curtsied to Aragorn, who would soon be her King. “Wish me joy, my liege-lord and healer.”

“I have wished you joy ever since I first saw you. It heals my heart to see you now in bliss.”

I knew that Aragorn had been troubled by Éowyn’s fate, and I was glad to know that her marriage to Faramir had eased his heart on that score. I just wondered if anything would ever heal my heart.

Elvish translations

Avo – never

Gwador – brother

Hannon chen – thank you

Nach maetolo – welcome

Rîsen – my queen

Chapter 133

It was a sad parting when we left Edoras. Aragorn chose to ride on as far as Isengard with the Elves and the rest of the Fellowship, but Arwen stayed in Rohan, and said her final good-byes to her father there. I did not hear what words they spoke in parting, but I have never seen Elrond so sad as he was that day, after they had spoken. She clung tightly to Aragorn when she and her father returned from the walk they had taken together. He held her close for a few minutes, whispering reassurances in her ear, before motioning me over to them. I went, a little wary, unsure what Aragorn wanted me for. To my surprise, he passed Arwen into my embrace. “I, too, must say my good-byes,” he said by way of explanation. And so I found myself in the position of comforting a crying Arwen once again. I had held her as she mourned the loss of her mother. That day, I held her as she mourned the loss of her father.

I did not know what to say since the words of comfort Elves usually used, speaking of Valinor, would be no help to Arwen. She would never see the white shores of the Undying Lands, so I just held her. “Will you leave me, too?” she asked.

“Avo,” I promised. “I have sworn my service to Aragorn. I will stay as long as he lives, and as long as you need me. You need not fear on that account.”

“Hannon chen, gwador,” she said.

“Nach maetolo, rîsen,” I replied, swearing my service to her with those words as I had sworn to Aragorn before our march on the Black Gates.

“Is that all I am to you now?” she asked. “Only your queen?”

“Of course not,” I assured her. “You are still my friend, but you are also the wife of my friend and liege. That changes things.”

“Only if you let it,” she told me. I smiled, but my heart broke a little more as she spoke. She clearly had no idea what either she or Aragorn had meant to me if she could say those words to me. I loved them. I would have taken either one of them as my mate without a second thought. To suggest that nothing had changed between us was ludicrous. I was saved from having to reply by Gimli’s call that we were riding out. I said good-bye to Arwen quickly, promising to come back to Minas Tirith as quickly as I could.

When we were ready to set out, Éomer and Éowyn came to say farewell. They went first to Merry. “Farewell now, Meriadoc of the Shire and Holdwine of the Mark! Ride to good fortune and ride back soon to our welcome!” Éowyn said. 

“Kings of old would have laden you with gifts that a wain could not bear for your deeds; and yet you will take naught, you say, but the arms that were given to you. This I suffer, for indeed I have no gift that is worthy, but my sister begs you to receive this small thing as a memorial of Dernhelm and of the horns of the Mark at the coming of the morning.”

Éowyn gave Merry an ancient horn, small but cleverly made, all of fair silver with a baldric of green. Engraved upon it were swift horsemen riding in a line that wound about it from the tip to the mouth, and the runes upon it told of great virtue.

“This is an heirloom of our house,” Éowyn told him. “It was made by the Dwarves, and came from the hoard of Scatha the Worm. Eorl the Young brought it from the North. He that blows it at need shall set fear in the hearts of his enemies and joy in the hearts of his friends, and they shall hear him and come to him.”

Merry took the horn, for how could he have refused it, and we drank the stirrup-cup and departed. We rode from Edoras to Helm’s Deep. I had a promise to keep to Gimli and Elrond, Galadriel, and Celeborn wanted to see the site where so many Elves had fallen. I had seen them buried and blessed to the best of my ability, but I wanted the Elflords to bless it as well.

When we reached Helm’s Deep, we set up camp outside. None of the Elves wanted to stay in the fortress. While I was probably the most susceptible to the ravages of rock, no Elf is happy separated from the wind and the sky. We arrived at the castle in the mid-afternoon. Gimli was ready to explore the caves immediately, but I needed a little more time. I promised him we would go early the next morning and he accepted my compromise.

We set up camp as we always did, our tents in groups according to our ties. Galadriel’s and Celeborn’s tent was surrounded by the tents of the other Elves from Lórien, a sort of protective barrier between their Lord and Lady and the rest of the world. The soldiers from Imladris were no less protective of Elrond; they just showed it differently. Finally, the Fellowship congregated together, all the trappings of state left behind in Edoras. It was a relief to be with just Aragorn again. I felt like I did not know Elessar the King. I knew Aragorn the Ranger, though, and the time between Edoras and Helm’s Deep, and the time in Helm’s Deep, helped me remember that the Ranger was still a part of the King.

I was nervous the next morning when Gimli and I made ready to explore the caves. We took lanterns and lembas as well as a skin of water to drink while we explored. Aragorn had promised to come looking for us if we had not returned by mid-afternoon. Gimli had grumbled at the promise, saying Dwarves did not get lost underground. I was not worried about him getting lost. I was worried about accidents that even he could not control. After all, he had lost his wife in just such an accident. I said nothing of that, however, since I knew he had not told the others about his wife.

I could feel my steps dragging as we approached the fortress and went inside. Guards bowed as we passed. We were the heroes of Helm’s Deep and of the war of the Ring, I reminded myself bitterly. They saw our successes, but I felt only my failures. The keep had almost fallen because of me. The Elves in the barrow behind us had died because of me. I forced myself to think of other things. That was the stone talking, not my heart. At least, I told myself that that was so. The Ring was destroyed; I had no fresh grief in my heart. I could face the caves without it draining my reserves. I had to believe that or I would break my promise to Gimli.

To my surprise, the Glittering Caves of Aglarond were nothing like Moria or the Paths of the Dead. It was cool in the caves, but then, Gimli explained, all caves were cool except those that were heated by fissures that went deep into the ground. The darkness was not, however, dank and smothering as it had been in Moria. The walls of the caves shone with crystals, each one picking up the light from the lantern and reflecting it back into the room and the other crystals until an entire cavern seemed to glow from the light of one small lantern. Gimli led me through chamber after chamber, some dry, some with streams running through them, but all with the same beauty. I finally understood Gimli’s protective attitude toward the caves. They were something to be protected, to be cherished, the way an Elf would cherish and protect a particularly old or stately tree. To my surprise, I became so immersed in exploring the cave that Gimli had to remind me when it was time to leave, lest we worry Aragorn and the others unnecessarily.

“Hannon chen, meldir,” I said to Gimli as we made our way back outside. I had been teaching him Elvish phrases since that night in Ithilien, and I would use them from time to time to see if he remembered.

“Nach maetolo,” he replied. I smiled. He had remembered. 

We returned to the tents just as Aragorn was getting ready to come looking for us. “You were gone a long time,” he observed. I just nodded. I did not know how to explain what I had experienced in Aglarond. When Aragorn pressed me a little, I answered finally that Gimli alone could find fit words to speak of the caves. “And never before has a Dwarf claimed victory over an Elf in a contest of words.” When I realized what I had said, I smiled and added, “Now therefore let us go to Fangorn and set the score right!”

My comment elicited laughter from all who heard it, even from Gimli, but I could tell he understood. The caves of Aglarond were magical and wondrous to me. And while I never learned to live in stone dwellings or to feel comfortable underground, I never minded visiting Gimli when he moved there. The Glittering Caves were different.

Chapter 134

When we had finished all that we needed to do, we rode on from Helm’s Deep toward Isengard. Gandalf and Aragorn wanted to see how Treebeard was doing, and it was on the way home for the Elves and Hobbits. Gimli and I continued with them because Isengard was on the edge of the forest, and we wanted to speak with Treebeard before we ventured into his domain. Part of that was out of respect, but also out of self-preservation. We had seen the destruction wrought by the Ents. We did not want to be on the receiving end of their anger.

The view that met our eyes had changed radically. The stone circle that had surrounded Isengard was gone and within its old boundaries, an orchard had been planted, and a stream ran through it to a clear lake in the center with the Tower of Orthanc rising out of the center. We stared at the vision before us, so different from both the manicured domain that Saruman had maintained before he turned to Sauron and the destruction that had greeted us on our last visit.

Treebeard arrived while we stared in wonderment. “Welcome to the Treegarth of Orthanc,” he greeted us. “I knew that you were coming, but I was at work up the valley. There is much still to be done. But you have not been idle either, away in the south and the east, I hear, and all that I hear is good. Very good. You have proved mightiest, and all your labors have gone well. Where now would you be going?”

“To see how your work goes, my friend, and to thank you for your aid in all that has been achieved,” Gandalf said.

“Well that is fair enough, for to be sure Ents have played their part. And not only in dealing with the accursed tree-slayer that dwelt here. For there was a great inrush of those, burárum, those evileyed-blackhanded-bowlegged-flinthearted-clawfingered-foulbellied-bloodthirsty, morimaitesincahonda, well, since you are hasty folk and their full name is as long as years of torment, those vermin of Orcs.” I considered Treebeard’s words, and knew that his name for the Orcs was better suited to them than the simple name by which we called them. Orcs or Yrch, the name itself did not evoke the pain and suffering the creatures had inflicted over the millennia of their depredations. “They came over the River,” Treebeard continued, “and down from the north and all round the wood of Laurelindórenan, which they could not get into thanks to the Great Ones who are here.” He bowed to Galadriel and Celeborn. I had heard the tales, of course, of how they had fended off three assaults before crossing the Anduin and helping my father defeat the Orcs that remained in Dol Guldur. Elves had brought tales to me of how Galadriel had cast down its walls and laid bare its pits, cleaning the forest, and of how my father and Celeborn had met there and renamed it Eryn Lasgalen. I had not realized, however, that the Orcs had also come back to Isengard.

“And these same foul creatures were more than surprised to meet us out on the Wold, for they had not heard of us before, though that might be said also of better folk. And not many will remember us, for not many escaped us alive, and the River had most of those. But it was well for you, for if they had not met us, then the king of the grassland would not have ridden far, and if he had, there would have been no home to return to.” 

Though this was news to me, it was clearly not news to Aragorn. “We know it well,” he told Treebeard, “and never shall it be forgotten in Minas Tirith or in Edoras.”

“Never is too long a word even for me,” Treebeard commented. “Not while your kingdoms last, you mean, but they will have to last long indeed to seem long to Ents.”

“The New Age begins,” Gandalf reminded him, “and in this age, it may well prove that the kingdoms of Men shall outlast you, Fangorn, my friend.”

“In the meantime,” Aragorn interrupted, “I will give to the Ents all this valley to do with as they will, so long as they keep watch upon Orthanc and see that none enter it without my leave. May your forest grow in peace again. When this valley is filled, there is room and to spare west of the mountains, where once you walked long ago.”

Treebeard’s face grew sad. “Forests may grow, woods may spread, but not Ents. There are no Entings.”

It saddened me to think of the end of the Ents, even as Treebeard and Aragorn discussed the search for the Entwives since the war was over. It would be a sad world with the old magic leaving, yet, as Gandalf had said, a new Age had begun, the Age of Men. Some Elves would linger for a time, and some might never leave, but even those who tarried would be forgotten soon enough except in stories. The Dwarves would stay, but with the exception of Gimli, most seemed content to stay in their caves and live out their lives, undisturbed by the wider world. The Hobbits, too, would continue to dwell in the Shire, a tiny piece of paradise that Aragorn declared closed to any outsiders in an attempt to protect the gentle Periannath. Still, it was Men who would determine the future of Middle Earth. I did not worry about Aragorn’s reign, or Éomer’s, but they were mortal. Eventually, they would die and others would take their places, others, perhaps, without their sense of justice and their commitment to all the Free Folk. 

My musings were interrupted by Treebeard’s exclamation, “But I am forgetting my manners! Will you stay here and rest a while? And maybe there are some that would be pleased to pass through Fangorn Forest and so shorten their road home?”

The others declined the offer. Only Gimli and I would take that road. We said our good-byes there at Isengard, for the other Elves were returning to their realms, Aragorn to Gondor and the Hobbits to the Shire. Finally, the Fellowship was ending. 

Aragorn drew us all together one last time. “Here then at last comes the ending of the Fellowship of the Ring. Yet I hope that ere long you will return to my land with the help that you promised,” Aragorn said to Gimli and to me.

“We will come, if our own lords allow it,” Gimli promised. He did not know, then, of my vow to Aragorn. My father’s reaction remained to be seen, but my path, at least, was decided. Whether with other Elves or alone, I would return to Gondor and serve out my pledge to my King. “Well, farewell, my Hobbits! You should come safe to your own homes now, and I shall not be kept awake for fear of your peril. We will send word when we may, and some of us may yet meet at times, but I fear that we shall not all be gathered together ever again.”

His words were prophetic. Never again did all eight of us gather together. In fact, that was the last time either of us saw Frodo or Sam. We said farewell reluctantly, Gimli and I staying behind as the others went on to their homes. “Come, Gimli,” I said, when they had ridden out of sight. “Now by Fangorn’s leave I will visit the deep places of the Entwood and see such trees as are nowhere else to be found in Middle Earth. You shall come with me and keep your word, and thus we shall journey on together to our own lands in Mirkwood and beyond.”

He grumbled a little at my words so I smiled and tried again. “I trusted you enough to go into the caves of Aglarond. Trust me enough to walk in Fangorn Forest. Keep your axe in your belt and all will be well.”

“I will keep my word,” Gimli muttered as we entered the woods. We walked all day before we made camp, taking care to build a fire only from fallen wood. I dared to ask Gimli, that night, about his future. I wanted to know if he would seek a new love when things settled down.

“Dwarves love only once,” he told me. “Dís is gone, and I will be alone for the rest of my life. At least in that respect.”

“Then we should be alone together,” I suggested.

“What a pair we will make,” Gimli laughed. “It is a good idea.”

On our second day’s walk, we reached the heart of the forest, and I marveled at the magnificence of the forest. 

“Can you feel it?” I asked Gimli.

“Feel what?” he replied.

“The power here,” I answered. “It is like in Lórien, except that there, it was the Lady’s power. Here it is the power of the forest itself.” And I reached out blindly to touch that power, letting it wash over and through me, smoothing away the rough edges of my heart and mind, filling the empty spaces, mending what was broken, replacing what was missing.

“Whoa, there, lad,” I heard Gimli say as if from a great distance, but I was floating, flying above the tops of the trees and soaring among the stars. “Come back to me now,” his voice said again.

I blinked and realized that I was lying on the ground, my head cradled in Gimli’s lap. “What happened?” I asked.

“One minute you were talking about the power of the forest, the next minute you were glowing, and then you fell,” Gimli replied. “So you tell me what happened.”

I looked at the glade where we had stopped and it was alight, even though Arien had long since set. Where was the light coming from? Then I looked down at my hands and realized that they were, as Gimli had said, glowing. I had forgotten all my father’s teachings about the trees and had drawn their energy into me unheeding. This was the result.

“I took too much,” I told Gimli. I held out my hands. “You saw Galadriel in Lórien. She fairly shone with power. All Elves do to some extent, but not like her. There are none like her. That is what is happening to me, except that the power is not my own, but the power of Fangorn. I am glad you were here, Gimli, to stop me. If not, I do not know what would have happened to me.”

I did not know what would have happened, but I had a fairly good guess. I would have kept drawing until I could hold no more, and I would have gotten lost in the forest. Not physically lost, but I would have lost myself. It seemed that my salvation was a double-edged sword. My father had warned me, but I had ignored what he had said when faced with Fangorn. Perhaps it was time to leave.

“I am not so sure we should tarry here,” I told Gimli. “I do not think it is safe for me anymore.”

He nodded. “Then let us be on our way. And I will watch out for you in the meantime.”

“I know you will,” I assured him. And so we walked, leaving behind the temptation of Fangorn and heading for home.

Elvish translations

Díhena nin – I’m sorry

Ernilen – my prince

Gimli i mellonen – Gimli is my friend

Idho – rest

Ion nín – my son

Manen ech? – how are you?

Mankoi – why

Melethryn chîn – your lovers

Im mellon Legolas – I am Legolas’ friend

Chapter 135

It took me days to come down from my Fangorn-induced high. Gimli took it all in stride, reminding me only that he and Arod were not infused with preternatural energy. “You may not need to rest, but we will get there faster if you don’t kill our horse,” he said caustically. I started walking beside Arod for part of the day, relieving him of carrying my weight and using up some of my excess energy as well. Even with the breaks we took for Arod and Gimli, we reached the borders of Eryn Lasgalen, as my home became known, far sooner than I expected we would. We had just crossed into my father’s realm when the effects of Fangorn Forest wore off and I collapsed at Gimli’s feet.

“Legolas?” I heard him exclaim.

“Im mellon Legolas,” I said, struggling to remain conscious.

“What?” he asked. “I don’t understand.”

“Tell the guards Im mellon Legolas,” I told him before I passed out.

I could not have been unconscious for more than a few hours because we were still in the woods when I awoke. The first thing I heard was Gimli calling my name. His face was the first I saw, with Saelbeth’s just behind him.

“Ernilen,” Saelbeth said with a bow, “manen ech?”

“I am all right,” I replied in Elvish, giving Gimli the most reassuring smile I could muster.

“We were worried about you,” Gimli and Saelbeth said at the same time, though in different languages.

“I will be all right,” I repeated in Westron that time for Gimli’s sake. “If I pass our again, tell my father about Fangorn,” I told Gimli.

“Just rest, lad,” Gimli answered, patting my hand. I could see Saelbeth’s slightly scandalized look, and I hoped he would not jump to too many conclusions before I could explain, but exhaustion was pulling me under again.

The next time I awoke, I was in my bed, my father hovering over me on one side and Gimli on the other. At least they had not killed each other.

“Ada,” I croaked out. “Gimli i mellonen.”

“So he has been telling me,” my father replied with a smile. “Of all the Naugrim, did you have to choose this one to befriend?”

I could tell he was joking, but I was still too weak to reply in kind. “Circumstances,” was all I could say.

“I know,” my father answered. “Gimli says you went to Fangorn together,” he continued, speaking in Westron to include Gimli.

“Made a promise,” I said as clearly as I could, but my thoughts were still so blurry.

“When we were passing through Fangorn Forest after the battle of Helm’s Deep, we promised to each visit a place we would not normally go, Legolas to Aglarond, me to the heart of Fangorn, if we both survived the war. We kept our promises and went together to both places, each of us discovering beauty we had not known how to appreciate before,” Gimli recounted, since I obviously was not up to telling the tale.

“And you drew from the trees at the heart of Fangorn,” my father finished.

“Aye.”

“Mankoi?”

“It was a difficult few weeks.”

“Melethryn chîn.”

“Aye.”

My father sighed, but pulled me tight for a hug I desperately needed. “He will recover,” he said to Gimli. “It will just take time. Will you stay or return home?”

“We had planned to travel together. How long before he can join me?”

“A few weeks, at least, perhaps a month.” I had not realized just how much I had hurt myself, though that had not been my intent.

“I will stay for a few days, at least,” Gimli decided.

I tried to thank Gimli, but I was going under again. “Idho,” my father whispered, brushing a kiss across my brow. As I drifted off again, I vaguely heard my father telling Gimli to make me eat when I next awoke.

“Your father had to attend a meeting,” Gimli told me as soon as I came to. “Eat.” And he pushed me a piece of lembas bread into my hands. I knew why I was being given lembas – it would strengthen my body and my mind – but I wanted something else, something different. We had been eating lembas for so long. Gimli chuckled at the face I made and handed me another piece. When he was satisfied I had eaten enough, he sat back on his chair and said, “I have been thinking. If it will take you a month to recover, perhaps I should go home and gather Dwarves to go with us and return to meet you. Do you think your father will give you leave to go?”

“I do not know if others will go with me,” I replied, “but I will be returning to Minas Tirith, even if I go alone. I swore my service to the King of Gondor. I will honor that pledge.”

“What?” Gimli asked. “When?”

“Before we rode to the Black Gates, but I knew on the Paths of the Dead. I have to tell my father, still, and I do not know how he will react, but he will not ask me to break my oath. What about your lord?”

“He will accept. It is too good an opportunity for us to pass up.”

“Then I think your idea is a good one. Go home. See your father and your lord, and return when you can. When I am well, we will all travel together back to Gondor.”

“That will be something to see, a large party of Elves and Dwarves traveling together,” Gimli laughed.

“We became friends. So can they,” I insisted. 

“They might, at that,” Gimli agreed. “I will stay a little longer yet. I want to see that you’re truly on the mend. And I want to be here when you tell your father that I’m coming back with a group of Dwarves. I don’t want a repeat of the last time Dwarves came to Mirkwood!” He laughed as he spoke so I hoped he was willing to let the past stay in the past.

“My father is a strong and often arrogant King, but he was always kind and loving to me,” I told Gimli.

“I can see that,” Gimli assured me. “When they brought the stretcher to the halls, he carried you inside himself and did not leave you until you awoke the first time.”

“That is just like my father. As a King, he is all that his reputation claims, but as a father, he is all that an Elfling could desire.” My eyelids started to droop as the healing sleep came over me again.

My father’s voice telling Gimli to go and rest, that he would watch, woke me, but I remained unmoving as if I still slept. I wanted to speak with my father, but I did not want to ask Gimli to leave.

When the door closed behind Gimli, my father spoke again. “You can open your eyes, ion nín. I know you are awake.”

I opened my eyes and met his troubled gaze. “Please do not scold me,” I said tiredly.

“Scold you? Legolas, you could have died!” He pulled me into his arms and held me tight. “Do not scare me like that again.”

“Díhena nin, Ada. I do not know how it happened. Yes, I touched the trees, but no more than usual. It just… took control.” I did not know how else to explain what had happened.

“Remember where you were,” he reminded me. “The oldest forest in Arda with a connection to the earth so deep and powerful that it gave rise to the Ents. Honestly, I am surprised that you came out of it at all.”

“You can thank Gimli for that,” I replied.

“Yet another reason for which I must be grateful to him,” my father grumbled. “You would not talk to me when you were in Gondor. You refused to let me comfort you.”

“It was too much. If I had let you in, I would have had to face everything that had happened. I just wanted to forget. Did you send someone after me?”

“Aye. Who came? One of Elrond’s twins?”

“With Gimli in tow. Elrohir left as soon as Gimli found me.”

“Again!” my father exclaimed.

“He became my friend, Ada. He lost the one he loved in a mining accident. Dwarves only love once so, like me, he will live out his life alone. He has become my friend,” I repeated. “He protected me when I could not protect myself in Moria. He grieved with me when we believed Gandalf had fallen and when Boromir died. He worried with me when the Hobbits were captured and for me when Aragorn fell. He fought beside me and stood beside me, ready to die if that was what it took, but more than willing to fight to stay alive. And his presence comforted me when no one else was around to see. His heart is as lost to him as mine to me. So we will be alone together.”

“I had hoped you are home to stay, but you are not, are you?”

“Nay, Gimli will go to Erebor to see if any Dwarves wish to help rebuild Gondor. I am here to see if there are Elves willing to do the same.”

“And so they take you away from me again,” my father sighed.

“I swore my service to them both. While they live, I will reside in Gondor.”

“And when they die, you will sail for Valinor, leaving me here alone.”

“You could come with me.” We had had this discussion a thousand times or more. His answer was always the same.

“Not while Elves still dwell in Eryn Lasgalen. I will not abandon my people.”

“I know,” I said, “but I had to ask. I will ask again before I sail, even though I know the answer will not change. Do I have your permission to seek others to accompany me or do I go alone?”

“Take those who wish to go, but explain to them clearly that you will only be there for the life of the King of Gondor. They are not used to that idea. They must understand that you will be leaving them after a time. Even if it is a long time for Men, it is nothing to an Elf.” Nothing but years of heartache, I thought, but I did not say it. We were not talking about the state of my heart. To the average Elf, one hundred years was a fraction of a lifetime.

“Will you welcome them home if they do not want to stay in Gondor after I leave?”

“I would never turn away an Elf in need of a home. And do not bring up Elrond. There is more there than you know, and I would welcome him if he lost his home.”

“Hannon chen, Ada. Gimli wants to stay a little longer, but he will leave soon for Erebor and come back with his companions. We will leave as soon as I am well enough to travel.”

“Are you so eager to return to them?”

“I made a promise that I intend to keep. It will be hard enough as it is. Please do not make the situation even more difficult,” I begged.

My father nodded. “Rest. I will talk to my advisors. Some of them may be ready for a new adventure, and you will need Elves you can trust.”

“I can trust Aragorn,” I protested.

“Maybe you can, but that does not mean you can trust every Man in Gondor.”

He left me to my thoughts, and while I was glad of the chance to talk with him, I wished Gimli had not left. A few minutes later, Silinde came in, knocking on the door as he opened it. “King Thranduil said you wanted to see me, ernilen.”

I had certainly not expected my father to send his chief advisor, but if Silinde was willing to accompany me, I could have no better help.

“When I am recovered, I will be leaving again,” I began, pausing as I tried to decide how to explain.

“For how long?” Silinde asked.

“For a very long time. King Elessar of Gondor has asked for the help of Elves and Dwarves to rebuild Gondor. Gimli will leave soon to recruit willing hands among the Dwarves. I am here to recruit them among the Elves. I swore my service to him, and I will live in Gondor for as long as he is King. I am looking for Elves to help us in this task. I do not know if my father meant for you to come with me or only to help me choose who should come.”

“King Thranduil knows I have always wanted to live among Men for a time. If you will have me, I will go,” Silinde said eagerly.

“I will cherish your counsel. I do not know what our situation will be exactly, but Aragorn knows the ways of Elves. He will treat us fairly.”

“What will our tasks be? Do you know?”

“Ever the organizer,” I laughed. “Minas Tirith is badly damaged. The Dwarves will reset the stone, but the city is dead. We must bring life back to it. And I know Aragorn wants to reclaim Osgiliath, which was all but destroyed, and Ithilien, both of which will need our assistance as well.”

“We will need foresters, then. And soldiers as well?”

“Probably not in Minas Tirith, but when we cross into Ithilien, we will need to defend ourselves. The Ring is destroyed, and Sauron with it, but Orcs still roam free and others who would see Aragorn fail. If he rides to war, I will ride with him.”

“Then we will recruit a company of soldiers as well. Shall I extend the invitation to the Elves of Imladris and Lórien?”

“Silinde, you are a gem. Aye, send the invitation and make the arrangements. I will help as much as I can. That will be more once I can leave this bed. Make sure everyone understands that my presence is temporary. I will dwell there as long as the current King reigns, but I doubt that I will tarry long after his death.”

“I know, ernilen.” I looked at him, surprised. “I will not speak of it again, but I just wanted you to know that I understand.”

I nodded. “We will not speak of it again,” he repeated, seeing the look on my face. I could not decide how I felt about his knowing. To everyone else, I could pass any symptoms off as sea-longing. With Gimli, I could speak of at least part of the truth. By my own choice. Silinde knew through my father’s choice.

“I will leave you to rest,” Silinde said, rising from my bedside. “I will bring you names as others volunteer.”

“That will be fine. If you see Gimli, will you ask him to join me?” I asked.

“Of course, ernilen.” That was something else I had to decide about. Aragorn would undoubtedly give me a title, but I had to decide what I would be to the Elves who followed me. Prince, Lord, or some other title entirely. I wanted no title at all, but that would not be an option in the court of Gondor. I would need a title to show my place among them.

“Awake, again?” Gimli asked, interrupting my thoughts. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was trampled by a herd of Mûmakil,” I answered with a smile. “I owe you my life,” I told him. “I did not realize it, but I would have died in Fangorn if you had not brought me out of my trance.”

“I think we don’t need to keep track of that anymore. We have saved each other too many times to count now. So, what did you want to tell me?”

“Saying thank you for saving my life is not enough?” I teased.

Gimli just shook his head.

“I spoke to my father. He has given permission for me to recruit a company of Elves. The Elf who sent you here is… well, was, I guess, my father’s chief advisor. He will be coming with me. He is organizing everything. I also told my father that you will be returning with a contingent of Dwarves. You will be welcomed back. When do you think you will leave, and how long will it take before you return?”

“It will only take a few days to reach Erebor, but it will take time to find volunteers and gather the equipment we will need to work in Minas Tirith. Say a week to get there, a month to prepare, and a week to come back. Six weeks in all.”

“That is good,” I said. “It will give us time to make preparations as well and for me to regain my strength. I will send a messenger to Gondor telling Aragorn when to expect us.”

“Will you be all right if I leave tomorrow?” Gimli asked, concerned.

“My father has been helping me deal with my problems since they began. He will keep an eye on me while you are gone. The sooner you go, the sooner you will return and we can leave for Gondor.” Inexplicably, I was eager to return, even if it meant having to see Aragorn and Arwen together. However pitiable it was, that was the life I had chosen and I wanted to start living it. My conversation with Silinde had reminded me of the practicalities ahead and I wanted to try my hand at a different kind of leadership. The kind that protected by creating rather than by destroying. I would not have children, nor would many of the Elves who went with me, but Aragorn and Arwen would, as would Faramir and Éowyn, and Éomer and his wife, when he married. We would be building a future for those innocent lives, free of the poison of Sauron’s influence. I tried to explain all of this to Gimli, in stumbling, halting phrases that in no way resembled the eloquence for which Elves were known, but I was a warrior, not a poet. Fortunately, Gimli understood what I was trying to say.

“’Tis the same for me, my friend. My line will die with me, but the Dwarves will carry on in a better world for the work we will do. I will leave in the morning, then. Expect me back in no more than six weeks.”

“We will be ready,” I promised. We talked of other things until my eyes began to close again. He left me with admonitions to rest.

The six weeks of Gimli’s absence were incredibly busy. Silinde and I had more volunteers than we could take, not knowing what our situation would be upon our arrival. We had settled on the number fifty as a final group. Once we were established in Gondor, we could invite others. Our most important criterion in selecting Elves to accompany us was to determine how they felt about Men and Dwarves. We were imagining a new society where the races of Middle Earth worked together, or at least beside one another, to build the future. Elves who could not speak Westron or who showed prejudices against the other races were excluded. When Gimli returned right on time, we were ready to go. I was pleased to see that he had been as careful in his selection as I had been. The three days that we spent in Mirkwood before leaving for Gondor passed with no incidents.

On the road, we assigned any task, from cooking to collecting firewood to keeping watch, to both an Elf and a Dwarf. At first, the tensions were high, but as they began to understand that we would not be swayed in our policy, they learned to work together, until, long before we arrived in Gondor, we no longer had to assign tasks. Gimli and I made a point of doing everything together so that we provided an example to both races. As we had when we traveled with the Rohirrim, we even shared a tent, though we did not require any others to do so. To our delight, friendships developed between the races, and by the end of our journey, Gimli and I were not the only mixed-race pair.

About halfway to Gondor, we encountered a band of Orcs, and our people learned one more important lesson: how to fight together to protect those who were not warriors. After the battle, the soldiers began training together at the suggestion of the two captains, so they would be more effective the next time. The lessons of cooperation were so well learned that one group, not two, marched into Minas Tirith, the soldiers of both races protecting the others.

We left Silinde and Bain, Gimli’s second-in-command, to organize our camp for the night while Gimli and I went to tell Aragorn that we had, in fact, arrived.

“So how many did you lose on the way here?” Aragorn asked jokingly when we told him that we had arrived together.

“Come and see,” Gimli challenged by way of reply. Aragon walked with us to our makeshift camp and looked on in amazement at the cooperation.

“Did you think only Gimli and me capable of such a friendship?” I asked.

“Of course not. I only thought it would take longer. How many of there are you?” You cannot stay permanently in tents.”

“One hundred in all,” I told him. “Fifty of each race.”

Aragorn sent word to Faramir to join us, and they immediately started seeking lodging for us in the empty buildings in the city. We had brought only workers and soldiers in that first group, so there were no families to accommodate. We filled the quarters available to us, barracks style, while we dwelt in Minas Tirith. Only when we moved on to Ithilien and Aglarond did families join us, and then we worried about separate dwellings.

For two years, we worked, restoring and improving the major cities of Gondor: Minas Tirith and Osgiliath. When we had done all we could, Aragorn granted each Elf and each Dwarf a tract of land in Ithilien under Gimli’s and my stewardship.


End file.
